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PRINCE AND MUSICIAN. 


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On th.e virtuoso’s breast, sbe saw a bunch of maybells. p. 23 





PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


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FROM THE SERMAN 


RING. 


TRANSLATED BY 

HETTIE E. MILLER 

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CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. 
PUBLISHERS. 


TRANSLATION COPYRIGHT BY 

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1890 : 



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Printers and Binders, 

CHICAGO, ILL. 


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PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


i 

THE VIRTUOSO 

Upon the day on which this story opens, the large 
concert hall of the Academy of Music was filled to 
overflowing, and hundreds of people had been refused 
admittance at the box-oflice, although the price of the 
tickets was raised. Hence, only the elite of the pub- 
lic, the leaders of society, of the aristocracy, of wealth 
and of the intellectual world were present. 

In the gilded Court-box was to be seen the king, 
who was a lover of the fine arts, with his bright, in- 
telligent face; by his side' his more serious queen, 
who, as a rule, patronized only sacred music, but who 
that day had made an exception to her rule in honor 
of the celebrated artist. 

About the royal pair were grouped the numerous 
members of the family, among them the accomplished 
crown princess, the acknowledged friend and patroness 
of all artists and musicians. In this she was rivaled 
by her younger sister, the Grand-Duchess Alexandrine, 
who was visiting her at that time, and who strove to 
attract famous personages to her Residence, in order 
to render the place a veritable seat of the Muses. 

In the background were sitting and standing the la- 
dies and gentiemeu-in-waiting, generals and diplomat- 

7 


8 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


ists in gold embroidered uniforms decorated with or- 
ders, foreign guests of distinction, and government 
officials who held positions of trust and had been 
awarded the honor of an invitation. 

The boxes near by were occupied by members of 
the aristocracy, and afforded the impatient audience, 
and especially the strangers present, pleasant diver- 
sion before the concert began. 

They pointed out the most prominent notables of 
the exclusive circle, glanced at the ladies through their 
opera-glasses, admired their beauty and the elegance 
of their tasteful toilettes. With a certain awe they 
gazed at an old gentleman in the uniform of a cham- 
berlain, to which uniform he lent additional grace. 
They whispered his name in one another’s ears, a 
name which was known from the snow-covered summit 
of Chimborazo to the distant Asiatic plains, and which 
belonged to one of the greatest naturalists in the king- 
dom. 

As the learned man was famed for his universal 
knowledge, young Prince Egon von Schwarzfels was 
famed for his manly beauty, his wonderful amiability 
and his chivalrous boldness. He was the court Alci- 
biades, celebrated for his innumerable adventures, his 
vanity and his rare gifts. 

His slender, elegant form was more elastic than 
strong; his interesting face, with its fiery eyes, sensual 
lips and somewhat dissipated but bold features, re- 
minded one involuntarily of the roui of the Regency. 

The gallant prince was at the moment dividing his 
attentions between two ladies, the Duchess Ldonie 
von Taland and Countess Ada Harrer; now paying 
court to the intellect and position of the elder, now 
to the grace and beauty of the younger. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


9 


Undoubtedly, the duchess was one of the most 
prominent ladies at the Residence, by reason of her 
birth, her influential connections, her unlimited wealth 
and her cultured mind. Although past fifty, she was 
looked upon as one of the most attractive and inter- 
esting persons in society. 

As malicious tongues maintained, she owed her suc- 
cess for the most part to her extensive knowledge of 
the secret arts of the toilette. It was whispered that 
her luxuriant, black hair in which the costly diadem of 
brilliants sparkled, did not grow upon her head, that 
the delicate bloom upon her cheeks, the dazzling 
beauty of her classical neck and bosom were all artifi- 
cial. But the lustrous fire of her dark eyes, the pecul- 
iar charm of her mouth, the slightly roguish smile, 
the grace of her every movement, the dignity of her 
aristocratic bearing, were surely not affected, but nat- 
ural, as even envy had to acknowledge. 

But the duchess did not require those external 
means, she needed neither beauty nor youth in order 
to command and to charm. Her intellect alone was 
sufficient to explain her numerous conquests, to assure 
her success even in her old age, as had been the case 
with Ninon de L’Enclos and Maintenon. 

The favorite niece and sole heiress of a world-re- 
nowned diplomatist, under whose eyes she had grown 
up and received her education, she had not alone in- 
herited her uncle’s fabulous wealth, but his genius, his 
penetration, his keen wit, his wonderful political in- 
stinct— so that even the intellectual king, notwith- 
standing his devoted fidelity to his wife, was num- 
bered among the admirers of the duchess, who, sepa- 
rated from her husband, yielded to her often-changing 
inclinations. 


lO 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


Less brilliant, but so much the more attractive, did 
the delicate, fairy-like form of Countess Harrer appear 
beside the imposing duchess. 

Her ethereal form, her small, delicately cut face, 
with its large, almond-shaped eyes, the almost trans- 
parent and still not sickly pallor of her marble com- 
plexion, the wonderfully expressive features in which 
every change of feeling, every thought of her soul, was 
reflected like a light in a mirror, lent her entire person 
a shade of poetry, an expression of passionate yearn- 
ing and enthusiasm almost surprising in such sur- 
roundings and such an atmosphere, as if some exotic 
blossom from a distant zone had found its way into 
the midst of ordinary plants and flowers. 

Even her toilette, although in good taste and ac- 
cording perfectly with the demands of etiquette, be- 
trayed a certain striving for ideal independenqe. The 
sea-green silk gown with its garniture of white water- 
lilies, the costly and yet so simple pearl ornaments in 
her brown hair, the bouquet of fragrant May-bells in 
her tiny hand, harmonized with her appearance, which' 
involuntarily recalled the poetical, fabulous “Undine.” 

With evident interest she listened to the prince’s 
remarks with reference to the famous virtuoso who was 
that day to give his first concert at the Residence. 

For weeks he had been the sole topic of conversa- 
tion and his appearance was looked upon as an event 
before which all things else must give way. Daily 
not only the musical and social journals, but even the 
great political ones vouchsafed information as to the 
wonderful artist — information which was calculated 
to arouse the interest and the curiosity of the -ladies. 

They told in society not only of his extraordinary 
achievements, of his conquest of all technical difficult 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


II 


ties, but of the charm of his personal appearance as 
well, of the irresistible fascination of his conversation, 
of his strange, almost superhuman power over the 
minds of others. 

In confirmation of those statements, the most ad- 
venturous stories and anecdotes were told of him, in 
which fact and fiction were closely allied. To him was 
ascribed some magnetic power such as that possessed 
by the “Pied Piper of Hamelin, " who with the tones 
of his magic flute could entice both old and young, 
especially women, to the Venusberg. 

They named this and that woman from the best cir- 
cles as a sacrifice to that magician; ladies of the aris- 
tocracy, celebrated beauties, authoresses and artists, 
besides a number of people of minor importance, young 
girls, women and mothers, who for him had left their 
families. 

The prince more than any other could corroborate 
the various reports, for the artist was one of his most 
intimate friends. 

“I have known him,” said he, with a self-satisfied 
smile, “since his childhood. My father’s castle was the 
cradle of his talent, as it once afforded Beethoven a 
shelter. ” 

“Indeed," said the duchess, with a shade of irony. 
“Your family always patronize art and artists. You 
yourself are no exception, and follow the example of 
your respected ancestors.” 

“We do not bear David’s harp in our arms for 
naught, and, as tradition says, one of the descendants 
of our house won the heart and hand of a king’s 
daughter by singing and playing, like the noble Nor- 
man duke, Taillefer. ” 

“I am almost afraid,” smiled the duchess, “that the 
grandson will lose his heart as lightly.” 


12 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“Oh!” replied the prince, in surprise, “I possess a 
talisman which protects me against sirens." 

“What is it?" 

“Were I to name it, it would probably lose its 
power. Its virtue lies in the secret being kept." 

“I leave the secret to you. Instead, you must tell 
us of your famous friend. Our little countess is burn- 
ing with curiosity to know more about him." 

“If I am not mistaken, the prince spoke of Beetho- 
ven,” replied the countess, with apparent indifference, 
as she waved her ivory fan. 

“If you wish, I will tell you of Beethoven, who was 
likewise a friend of our family and an especial protig^ 
of my grandfather. In return for his kindness, he dedi- 
cated to him two of his finest sonatas. Finally they 
disagreed about a trifle.” 

“Pray, let us hear the reason. I love Beethoven 
above everything, and take the greatest interest in the 
most trifling incident relative to him. What would I 
give had I known him!" 

“He would then certainly have produced a second, 
m.ore expressive ‘Moonlight Sonata’." 

“I think,” said the • duchess, “that you would do 
better to satisfy our curiosity than to pay compli- 
ments.” 

“Very well!" exclaimed the prince. “The great 
maestro vjdiS my grandfather’s guest; he sought an 
asylum with him when Vienna was besieged by the 
French. Very soon the victorious enemy filled the 
entire land and quartered themselves on our estates. 
Fortunately, the French general who commanded in 
our province, was no ordinary roiurier, but from a good 
family, refined and educated, and an enthusiastic lover 
of music." 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


13 


'‘A rare quality in a soldier, and in time of war 
too,” said the countess. 

“To my grandfather," continued the prince, "that 
musical passion was doubly agreeable, for it occa- 
sioned the general to take every precaution to render 
the burdens and oppressions of the war lighter for us, 
for which my grandfather was of course very grateful. 
As the general had repeatedly expressed the desire 
to become acquainted with the famous artist of whose 
presence he was aware, a concert was arranged in his 
honor, at which Beethoven was to play principally his 
own compositions. But, for some incomprehensible 
reason, the artist refused to appear before the French 
general." 

"That is like him,” remarked the duchess. ‘‘I re- 
member a similar scene from his life.” 

“In vain did my grandfather beg and implore the 
obstinate composer, in vain did 'he promise to repay 
his every note with gold. Beethoven refused, although 
at that time he was in the most straitened • circum- 
stances and was dependent upon his patron’s bounty. 
For that reason, the latter hoped to overcome his scru- 
ples. So, without paying any heed to the stubborn 
artist’s refusal, he sent out invitations to the concert, 
and counted with certainty 'upon the co-operation of 
Beethoven, who was in his debt. The guests arrived 
promptly, at their head the French general with his 
brilliant suite.” 

“And Beethoven did not come?” asked the duchess. 

“The hours glided by and still they awaited the artist. 
The general grew impatient, and my grandfather sent 
messenger after messenger in search of him. Finally 
a servant brought him a few illegible lines, scribbled 
hastily in pencil, which had been found in his room. 


H 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


He himself, notwithstanding the chilliness of the 
storm}' December night, had flown in a light overcoat.” 

“And what was the reason for that unpardonable 
refusal? ” 

“His note contained only these words: — ‘I cannot 
and will not play before my country’s enemy’.” 

“Ah, that was grand, worthy of such an artist!” 
cried the countess, with flushed cheeks and sparkling 
eyes. 

“Eccentric, ungrateful!” said the duchess. “Still, we 
must overlook many things in a genius. Your friend 
Norin, too, has already driven many patrons of art to 
' despair, although he seems to be less abrupt and more 
tractable than his great model. He possesses just 
enough obstinacy and artistic caprice to make him in- 
teresting, and that he is indeed. Your family may be 
just as proud of such a protegi as of their friendship 
with Beethoven." 

“As you know,” added the prince, "Norin is -the sori 
of a traveling musician who one day aroused my 
mother’s compassion. The handsome boy with the 
pallid cheeks, the feverishly sparkling eyes and the 
entangled locks awakened her pity, when he, weary 
and exhausted, accompanied his father’s violin upon 
the harp. She sent for him, and took such a fancy to 
him that she provided for his education and his musical 
instruction, while she gave the father a small position 
\n our household. Later on, he came to Paris, where 
through introductions to our ambassador he obtained 
a foothold in the best circles and was soon admired as 
a phenomenon.” 

“I myself,” said the duchess, "heard him in Paris, 
where he was generally known as ^ihe neiv Mozart P 
His appearance was charming, he was as handsome 


f’RlMcfi A^^b MUSICIAN 


*5 

as a young Cupid, as bright as a demon. The ladies 
adored and spoiled the haughty youth, and even the 
men marveled at him. Old Cherubini embraced him 
in public after the first concert, and declared him to 
be the greatest musical genius' of the day. My uncle 
said, however: ‘He is the Napoleon of the piano, 
the Little Corporal of modern music.’” 

"His prophecy, like most of his speeches, was soon 
fulfilled; the Napoleon of the piano fought battle after 
battle and conquered all his opponents. Now he is 
making a triumphant march from land to land, from 
city to city, and wherever he appears he is well-re- 
ceived. The most prominent men, the handsomest 
women, press about him; the heads of the Romantic 
school in Paris have taken him up; Alfred de Musset 
sings his praises, George Sand deifies him, and all 
unite in lauding him.” 

"Your friend is indeed to be envied," murmured the 
countess. 

"You are mistaken, madame, ” replied the prince. 
"His restless Faust-like nature does not permit him to 
enjoy life notwithstanding his successes. Norin is not 
happy. ” 

'Who is?” said she with a slight sigh. 

The prince’s mocking reply was lost in the almost 
deafening cheers which greeted the appearance of the 
so-anxiously-awaited artist. All eyes, lorgnettes and 
opera-glasses were turned upon him. 

They wished only to see him to convince themselves 
that rumor had not deceived them, that the reports 
had not been. exaggerated. 

Tall and slender, he stood before the public, in the 
full consciousness of his power over the minds of the 
easily influenced throng, a born ruler over the domains 


i6 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


of Art, a modern Apollo, whom even the prosaic coat, 
decorated with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor, 
could not rob of the nobility of his classical beauty. 

His finely-molded face resembled an antique gem 
from the hand of a Grecian artist, every feature was 
so characteristic, so expressive. His fair, carefully 
parted hair fell in soft locks to his shoulders and lent 
him a certain likeness to the typical Christ’s head. 
His high, pale brow bespoke genius, while his phos- 
phorescently sparkling eyes betokened a deep soul; 
indeed, their glance was fascinating and at the same 
time exercised a sort of magnetic charm. An inde- 
scribable grace lay in his movements, in* the manner 
in which he bowed before the audience with real, or 
excellently simulated astonishment at his cordial re- 
ception, while a slight, almost childlike and still self- 
conscious smile played about his graceful mouth. 

Such was Norin, the hero of the day. 


II 


THE CONCERT 

When the artist had taken off his white kid gloves, 
he seated himself at the piano and ran his fingers 
lightly over the keys. 

That short prelude announced the master and pre- 
pared the public for an exceptional treat. 

The first number on the programme was ‘The Strug- 
gle of Genius," an orchestral symphony transcribed 
for the piano by the artist himself. The work con- 
tained, according to the opinion of those who under- 
stood music, technical difficulties which they consid- 
ered insurmountable. In their, eyes such an attempt 
must prove a failure, for the piano alone could not 
suffice to produce either the force and fullness of tone 
of an entire orchestra, or the delicacy of the stringed 
instruments and the power of the horns and basses. 
But the genius of a Norin scoffed at their predictions 
and conquered all obstacles. His hands seemed to be 
possessed with superhuman strength, so that the del- 
icate instrument developed a never-suspected force and 
under his management seemed to grow with him. 

Unceasingly the struggle continued in wild rage and 
despair. Entire mankind seemed oppressed beneath 
the load, and their groans, their cries of anguish, for 
help, arose to heaven. 

The vibrating strings groaned beneath the artist* s 
fingers, distant thunder rolled. 

17 


i8 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


But Genius, Humanity, was not to be trampled un- 
der foot in that struggle with Fate. Already rose from 
the darkness, from doubt, a golden gleam, the dawn 
of a happier future, a shimmer of approaching salva- 
tion. Then, above the abyss, like joyous larks, from 
the chaos arose voices, first faint and tender, then 
louder and clearer, into a prayer, a hymn to the Al- 
mighty. 

But the prayer was not fulfillment — merely comfort 
and hope. Faith does not give victory, only the 
strength for it. 

Sadly the principal theme of the symplfony was re- 
peated, the cries, the sighs o| humanity, the Savior’s 
cry of anguish when forsaken. 

Softly, scarcely audibly sounded the Adagio portray- 
ing fading life, the deepest exhaustion, as if the weary 
soul, like the wounded warrior, lay bleeding upon the 
ground, around it circling the shadow of death. Then 
from its apathy arose the soul to a new life. Freed 
from the bonds of death, scorning conquest, and, by a 
mighty crescendo, ascending toward heaven. 

The siege was fought, the freed soul rose, and ut- 
tered such a song of triumph as never mortal lips had 
sung — the Te Deum of the blessed souls in celebration 
of saved mankind, the song of Genius, which, by its 
own strength, had overcome Fate’s dark power, nnd 
proudly raised its head, crowned with the immortal 
laurel. 

Deep, breathless silence reigned in the large hall, 
and betrayed the effect produced more than would the 
loudest applause. Here and there a pretty eye glis- 
tened, a bosom heaved, a tender heart beat more 
quickly than usual. But the lovely Countess Harrer 
was affected more than anyone by the master’s wonder- 
ful playing. 


i>RINC£ AND MUSICIAN 


19 


She herself was possessed of rare musical talent 
and comprehension of the art, so that she knew how 
to appreciate the great virtuoso’s performance. She 
had never heard its equal, had never considered such 
execution possible. The music had upon the sensitive- 
ly organized woman a peculiar effect. She felt all the 
sufferings of Genius, she made the same struggle in 
her own soul. As the music seemed to combat and 
implore, she did the same; she lay exhausted upon 
the ground, rose to heaven, and hovered in the purest 
ether. She really fancied she was soaring, and invol- 
untarily she closed her eyes, as if seized with sudden 
dizziness. 

A nervous shudder passed over her, and yet, at the 
same time, she felt a bliss never experienced before. 
From that excitement she was. suddenly aroused by the 
fanatical yells of the audience, whose enthusiasm knew 
no bounds. 

Flowers and wreaths fell at the virtuoso’s feet. A 
scarcely perceptible smile hovered about his lips and 
lighted up his face, as he received the public’s hom- 
age. 

As if crowned by an invisible glory, he stood there, 
the god of the day, in the midst of his worshipers. 
The countess, too, followed the general impulse, for 
she timidly threw toward the virtuoso the costly bunch 
of May-bells which she held in her hand. At that 
moment she met a glance from his glowing eyes. •In- 
voluntarily she blushed and drew back in her box, but 
she saw, or rather felt, that his magnetic eyes followed 
her. 

Her cheeks glowed, and her heart throbbed as vio- 
lently as if she had committed a wrong. Her embar- 
rassment increased still more when, at that moment, 


20 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


the door opened, and in it appeared the tall form of an 
elderly gentleman in the military uniform of an officer 
of high rank. 

He greeted the duchess and the prince with a courtly 
bow, and with a kindly smile offered his strong hand 
to the countess, whose slender one trembled in its 
clasp like an aspen leaf. 

It was her husband. Count Harrer, who stood so 
unexpectedly before her. 

His deliberate, almost severe manner contrasted 
strangely with his wife’s youthful beauty and grace. 
His entire form seemed as if molded out of iron, his 
tanned face was like bronze, every feature betrayed the 
frank, energetic, soldierly nature, the consciousness 
of the fulfillment of his duties and pride in his military 
honor. 

Nothwithstanding the difference in their ages, the 
countess had chosen him, her father’s friend, in pref- 
erence to many a younger suitor, and she had not re- 
gretted her choice, for the count was highly respected 
and loved her devotedly. 

Her every wish was fulfilled by him before it was 
even expressed, all his thoughts were consecrated to 
her happiness. There was something touching in that 
almost idolatrous worship, in the affection of that 
otherwise so reserved man, as if he felt the necessity 
of making her forget, by redoubled tenderness, the in- 
equality of their ages and their views of life. 

The countess was grateful to him for such love, and 
returned it with the greatest respect and exemplary 
fidelity. Not the slightest shadow of suspicion sullied 
her pure life, and the busy tongue of scandal was 
silenced with regard to her. 

The couple’s happiness seemed enviable; but there. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


21 


too, the bitter drop in the golden cup of pleasure was 
not lacking. Their marriage was childless, a misfort- 
une which the countess at first felt more than her 
husband, for he found a substitute in his love and his 
profession. 

With time she too had submitted to the inevitable, 
for she had filled the void within her vuth art and 
poetry. For diversion, she busied herself with litera- 
ture and art; she drew and painted under the guid- 
ance of a well-known artist; but she soon gave up that 
study, for, according to her opinion, she did not pos- 
sess the necessary talent, and dilettanteism was dis- 
gusting to her. 

For a time she read, or, rather, devoured the newest 
literary productions, especially the poetry of Heine, 
of the French Romanticists, the psychological social 
studies of Balzac, and the sensational, passionate and 
soul-stirring romances of George Sand, which at that 
time were arousing the greatest surprise. 

Unconsciously she imbibed the sweet poison which 
was offered her, in itg most complete form. 

Still, her better judgment protected her from the 
errors to which so many women under similar circum- 
stances had yielded. 

The men, too, with whom she associated, were not 
calculated to interest her. Young officers with their 
idle chatter of advancement and cf the races, the shal- 
low councilors of the embassy and embryo diplomat- 
ists were more distasteful to her than ever. They did 
not understand her anguish, the secret sorrow of her 
soul. 

For One winter she plunged into society and tried to 
drown her trouble, but she soon wearied of the hollow 
gimusements, and retired as much as she possibly could 


22 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


from social life. In solitude her early love for music, 
which of late she had neglected, revived. With enthu- 
siasm she resumed her old studies; in the master 
pieces of the great composers, especially in Beethoven, 
she found, or thought she found, the specific fo^r her 
soul. 

She reveled in the magical kingdom of tones, giv- 
ing every feeling expression in music. 

For all those inclinations and moods, the count, 
with his disposition, had no sympathy. He allowed 
her to take her course without any interference on his 
part. He himself scoffed good-naturedly at his lack 
of appreciation, and confessed with naive candor that 
he preferred a lively march, an old soldier’s song, to 
Beethoven’s grandest sonata, .to all the songs of Schu- 
bert and Mendelssohn, to the finest concert. 

Even on this especial day he had intended to make 
no exception, although the artist had a wonderful rep- 
utation, and the countess had repeatedly requested him 
to accompany her. 

Her disappointment on account of his refusal, which, 
as she drove away, she could not entirely suppress, 
caused him to regret his decision, so that he followed 
her later on, in order to surprise her and to prove his 
love for his adored wife, rather than his liking for art. 

He now sat by the side of the beautiful Ada with- 
out sharing her enthusiasm, without comprehending 
the admiration of the throng, and of which, in his can- 
did manner, he made no secret. 

For the first time in her life the countess was 
ashamed and blushed at her husband’s narrowness. 
She must make the best of it, she must suffer him to 
speak of art like a barbarian and to be looked upon as 
such by her friends, 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


23 


In order to escape those annoying thoughts she bur- 
ied herself so much the more deeply and passionately 
in the pleasure which he scorned. Each successive 
number on the programme was a new triumph for the 
artist, and if possible, increased the enthusiasm of'the 
public and her own admiration for him. 

At the close of the last number, the hall rang with 
applause; Norin came forward while the men greeted 
him with ringing cheers; the ladies greeted him with 
the silent but more complimentary acknowledgment 
of their hearts. 

As the countess rose, she turned toward him- once 
more as if impelled by some secret power. Suddenly 
she started, and a burning blush suffused her delicate 
cheeks. 

On the virtuoso’s breast, she saw a bunch of May- 
bells. Of all the floral offerings he had honored her 
bouquet alone. 


Ill 


THE MEETING 

The concert was ended, the excited audience left the 
hall, and rushed in wild haste into the cloak-room, 
where the servants in livery were waiting with man- 
tles and warm wraps. 

An invisible spectator might have made interesting 
studies, might have overheard many a secret. 

In order to pass the time, the liveried .gentlemen 
chatted about the gentlemen in uniforms and made some 
not very flattering remarks about the members of the 
aristocracy. The servant of Prince von Schwarzfels, 
— "handsome Henry" as he was called by his envious 
colleagues — could tell a great many of the adventures 
of his master, whom he tried to copy in speech, 
carriage and manner. So he enjoyed in his sphere 
the same fame and respect as did his model in the 
fashionable world. 

‘Yes! Yes!” said the Don J'han of the lackey world, 
with a self-satisfied smile. ‘‘We have admirable good 
fortune with the ladies.” 

‘‘And wonderful debts,” remarked an envious col- 
league. 

"Bah! You know nothing about it. A true cavalier 
must have debts as well as ancestors. Such trifles do 
not annoy the aristocrats and when every resource 
fails, when the creditors grow impatient, when neither 
Jew nor Gentile will lend us any money, then there 
will be time enough to make a brilliant match.” 

34 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


25 


"And to marry that old hag, the painted duchess," • 
said the-malicious valet, amid the resounding laughter 
of the other servants. 

"You are a fool,” replied the Duchess von Taland’s 
serving-man angrily, shrugging his shoulders con- 
temptuously. "One can see and hear that you are em- 
ployed by an old money-bag, a converted Jew." 

"We can not suffer such low remarks," added hand- 
some Henry. "Let us cuff the democrat’s ears and put 
him out of doors." 

"Do not come near me !" exclaimed the furious valet, 
"or you will regret it.' You know, if I wish to speak 
the word, I can have you put in jail." 

The unexpected threat seemed indeed not to be 
groundless, judging from its effect. Handsome Henry 
turned pale and his uplifted hand fell to his side, while 
he attempted to hide his embarrassment behind an af- 
fected smile. 

Unfortunately at that moment the concert ended and 
the appearance of the masters and mistresses interrupt- 
ed the interesting dispute and the eagerly awaited dis- 
closures. The conversation ceased at once, and each 
man hastened to his post with as unconcerned an air 
. as possible. Old Frederick, the count’s servant, alone 
needed not to assume ah expressidn of faithfulness and 
respect, for his honest face was naturally respectful. 
With his military stiffness, his erect carriage and taci- 
turnity, he formed a striking contrast to the rest. From 
his hands the count took the warm shawl which he 
wrapped with paternal solicitude about the white 
shoulders of his charming wife, in order to protect her 
from the cold night-air. 

Prince von Schwarzfels did the same for his com- 
panion, the Duchess of Taland. With his assistance 


26 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


she enveloped herself in the costly sables, leaned co- 
quettishly upon his arm, and laughed and jested with 
him, while her servant and handsome Henry exchanged 
knowing glances. The couple were not unnoticed, and 
in spite of the large crowd they attracted considerable 
attention, as the prince as well as the duchess be- 
longed to the notables of the Residence and their re- 
lations were the talk of tne town. 

With that contempt for public opinion characteristic 
of a lady of an exclusive set, the duchess yielded to 
her new attachment, which she tried to conceal as 
little as her earlier connections. * 

She loved the prince with the reckless passion of an 
old woman who had no more time to lose, and who 
acknowledged the value and importance of the passing 
moment. 

No sacrifice was too great for her love; and it was 
whispered in society that the wealthy duchess had 
already paid out fabulous sums in order to free the 
prince from his pecuniar)^ embarrassments. Principally 
to her influence did he owe his position, both social 
and political. She was in fact his supporter, his pro- 
tector and adviser in all weighty matters. 

Proud of her brilliant conquest, of having so late in 
life attained such a triumph as to attract that hand- 
some young man, she made no secret of her fond- 
ness for him. . She was pleased to have the prince pay 
her attention in public, to have him help her with 
her wraps in the cloak-room and to offer her his arm, 
in order to conduct her to her equipage. 

His gallantry was not disregarded and seemed espe- 
cially to interest a lady who, hidden behind a pillar in 
the vestibule, followed the pair with a restless glance. 
§he could dp so easily, for a black lace veil and a 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


27 


hood concealed her face so well that neither ner age 
nor her countenance could be discerned. The strange 
woman stood near enough to hear every word, even 
the slightest whisper. 

No one noticed the unknown, who leaned like a mar- 
ble statue against the Ionian pillar. She indeed seemed 
turned to stone. Only a slight, imperceptible tremor 
of the slender form betrayed that a heart was beating 
violently within that statue. 

Had not her face been covered by the black veil, her 
features, distorted by pain and hatred, would have in- 
spired as much horror as a Medusa’s head, and would 
have caused the smiles of the handsome prince and 
his aristocratic companion to die upon their lips. 

As the duchess laughed aloud at some remark made 
by her youthful friend, the dark stranger uttered a 
sigh. 

Separated by only a step were the greatest suffering 
and the greatest pleasure, happiness and misery, de- 
spair and bliss. 

It was too much, the unhappy stranger could bear 
it no longer. 

She tried to escape the hated sight, but her limbs 
refused to do their duty, and against her will she was 
rooted to the spot. She could have cried aloud, but 
only a hollow sound escaped her bosom, her throat 
closed convulsively. 

A dark cloud passed before her eyes, her senses left 
her, and she fell in a swoon at the foot of a pillar. 

Fortunately her condition attracted the attention of 
a young man near by ; at once he hastened to her aid 
and raised the unconscious woman from the floor. 
With his strong arm he led, or rather bore her through 
the crowd to the house of the intendant of the Acade- 
my, with whom he was well acquaintedf 


28 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


"A lady has fainted!.” cried the crowd, half indiffer- 
ently, half compassionately, for such an occurrence at 
such a time was qiiite common. "The heat in the hall 
was suffocating too," said the prince unconcernedly. 

"And the excitement not less great,” added the 
duchess. 

"Another sacrifice to your demoniacal friend, Norin, 
of which the newspapers to-morrow will tell and make 
of it an advertisement.” 

At that moment the unconscious woman was borne 
past the pair, so closely that the hem of her black 
dress almost touched the prince. As the veil and hood 
had been pushed aside somewhat, he caught a glimpse 
of the marble-like, interesting features of the woman, 
which seemed to awaken a passing memory. 

Involuntarily his cheeks grew pale; he turned away 
to hide his feelings, which, however, had not escaped 
the duchess’ keen, jealous glance. 

"What ails 3^ou, prince?” she asked mistrustfully. 

"Nothing, nothing at all!” he stammered in confu- 
sion, striving apparently for self-control. 

"The air here is indeed dangerous, ” she replied iron- 
ically. "We will not remain any longer. Come!” 

Mechanically he followed his companion to her car- 
riage, in which he with secret chagrin took his seat be- 
side her, in order to spend the evening in her company. 
The count and countess likewise left the cloak-room 
less happy than when they came. The latter espe- 
cially seemed low-spirited, and put forth her plea of 
"headache” as an excuse for her silence. 

"That Norin alone is to blame,” said her husband, 
half in jest, half in earnest; "that detestable virtuoso 
is upsetting the entire world, and I am not at all sur- 
prised that women with sensitive nerves can not stand 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


29 


his exciting music; they either fall ill or lose con- 
sciousness. The police should forbid his concerts.** 

In the meantime, the young man with his lovely 
burden had reached the intendant’s dwelling, and had 
placed the unconscious woman in the care of the man’s 
kind-hearted wife, who succeeded in gradually restor- 
ing life and consciousness. Color came into the pallid 
cheeks, the closed eyes opened and glanced at the 
strange surroundings.- A slight sigh escaped her 
bosom and a flood of tears relieved the heavy heart, 
as a shower after a storm cools the atmosphere. 

Veil and hood were laid aside, and with increasing 
sympathy her protector watched the movements of the 
interesting stranger. Her entire appearance bore the 
stamp of something exceptional, and that impression 
was increased by the peculiar situation. The pale 
face, framed by the loosened black hair, the dark, 
sparkling eyes, the painfully-quivering lips, the well- 
developed bust, with the lovely, classical neck, afforded 
the looker-on a surprising as well as a pleasing sight. ^ 

Exhausted and leaning back in an arm-chair she sat 
there silent and brooding, like a beautiful, dark prob- 
lem, as if she were still trying to gather her scattered 
thoughts. 

Deep silence reigned in the room, broken only by 
her irregular breathing and the ticking of the old 
Schwarzwald clock upon the wall. 

He dared not break the silence, but satisfied himself 
by casting from time to time a surreptitious glance 
full of sympathy at the pretty, bowed form, which in 
its sorrow charmed him so magically. The intendant’s 
good wife was still busied about her, and brought her 
from her medicine-chest various restoratives, drops for 
her nerves and sweet-smelling essences. 


36 


PRINCE and musician 


"Thank you," whispered the unknown, with a faint, 
pleasant smile; ‘T am putting you to so much trouble. 
A glass of water is all that I care for.” 

When the woman disappeared to fetch the water, 
she for the first time fixed her beaming eyes upon her 
protector, whom she seemed just to have noticed. 

“Ah!" she whispered, "my rescuer! If I am not mis- 
taken, you brought me hither from the crowd Par- 
don me for not thanking you sooner, but my poor 
head feels so badly; I still feel as weak and confused 
as if I had arisen from the dead. A swoon is cer- 
tainly the precursor of death. Forgive my rudeness.” 

"Neither an apology nor thanks are necessary Any 
one would have done the same for you." 

"Ah! the crowd pass a prostrate one unsympathetic- 
ally, and the good Samaritan is an exception." 

"You are severe in your judgment, and must have 
had painful experiences in order to take such a sad 
view of life. " 

"I am a woman, and women are born to suffer, " said 
she gloomily. 

He felt impelled to continue the interesting conver- 
sation in order to learn more as to the fate of the 
stranger, but to his sorrow the return of the intend- 
ant’s wife interrupted the conversation just at the mo- 
ment when he hoped to learn more about her from her 
own lips. 

Although the conversation had been brief, those few 
words had sufficed to arouse his sympathy. 

As she smoothed the blue-black locks of hair and 
drew together the dress which had fallen away from 
her dazzling neck, she spoke to the young man as she 
would to an old friend, without any embarrassment. 

"You will surely, " said she, with a candor peculiar to 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


St 

her, "not consider me curious if I inquire the name of 
my noble protector. Your name shall remind me of my 
debt, which I will repay sooner or later." 

"My name is Steiner, ’ replied the young man. 

"Steiner!" cried she, with evident astonishment. 
"Not Frederick Steiner, the well-known author! " 

"The same," replied the modest man, with a shade 
of embarrassment. 

"Oh! How glad I am that you, just you — " 

She did not complete her sentence, as if she feared 
to degrade the honored man by vulgar flattery; but 
the warm tone of her voice betrayed her admiration 
more than words could have done. Involuntarily she 
held out to him both hands, whose strong, almost 
masculine, pressure gave him an electric shock. 

Her sparkling eyes rested searchingly upon the in- 
tellectual, noble face of the young sava7it, whose pale 
cheeks glowed. 

"It is strange,” said she pensively, "that Fate — still, 
there is no Fate. But I believe that our meeting has 
more significance than we think it has at the present 
moment. We will — we must meet again." 

Before^ he could reply and ask her name in return, 
she disappeared through the door and entered the car- 
riage, which bore her away much too swiftly to please 
the young man. 


IV 


THE CLIQUE 

Lost in thought, the young scholar was passing 
along the deserted streets of the Residence, when he 
suddenly heard his name pronounced and was accosted 
by several acquaintances. They asked him to accom- 
pany them to a certain restaurant in the neighborhood, 
where, as a rule, the party-men and leaders of litera- 
ture, authors, artists, their friends and admirers, were 
in the habit of assembling after the theater. 

They would not listen to his excuse that it was too 
late and that he was not in the mood, so he was 
drawn along with them almost involuntarily, for in 
truth the tone of the company was distasteful to him 
for various reasons. 

The restaurant had with time attained a certain fame 
for being the assembly-place of the intellect^ual ele- 
ment of the Residence. 

Here met principally scattered bands, the degenerate 
pupils of that great philosopher whose system had for 
several decades ruled not only public opinion, but even 
the State, and enjoyed at the same time a sort of mo- 
nopoly. 

After the death of that great thinker, his system de- 
teriorated more and more and fell into anarchy. His 
pupils saved nothing from the wreck but the dialectic 
proficiency and self-deification of their master. Them- 
selves too weak and powerless to build a new king- 

32 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


33 


dom upon the ruins of that world of thought, nothing 
remained for them but doubt, negation, and disgust of 
life. 

That mood harmonized thoroughly with the general 
discontent with regard to political and social laws, and 
found, to a certain extent, an echo in the general mis- 
ery. 

The real representative of that school was a former 
friend of the young scholar, intellectual Doctor Berge- 
mann, one of the most capable and gifted minds among 
those modern sophists, but who was spoiled by im- 
moderate vanity and frivolity. 

About that man rallied his numerous friends and 
admirers, young students, embryo literary men, idlers, 
mistaken talent — all those men who in large cities wan- 
der aimlessly about in search of some prominent per- 
sonage upon whom to quarter themselves and to whom' 
they trust to raise them from their own insignificance. 

There were too many half-indifferent, half-curious, 
among those at the restaurant in the evening, to be 
able to take part in the interesting and intellectual 
conversation. The restaurant was called "The Temple;" 
the small room in which only the most favored guests 
were permitted to sit, "The Holy of Holies;" the buffet, 
"The Altar;" the landlord, "The High Priest, " and the 
waiters, "The Deacons," in mockery of pious customs 
and honored institutions. 

But beneath these frivolous jests was a vein of deep 
seriousness, a surprising and seductive abundance of 
intellect, wit and dazzling paradoxy. 

Amid bold jesting and laughter the most important 
questions were discussed, the highest interests of so- 
ciety treated of in a manner which filled the listeners 
alternately with admiration and disgust. Wine filled 


34 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


the glasses, champagne sparkled, hot grog steamed, 
the eyes of the drinkers gleamed, their cheeks glowed, 
and the intoxicated mind celebrated a wanton Bac- 
chanal. 

Since that current had gained the upper hand, the 
young scholar had shunned the once so pleasant circle 
and his once intimate friend. Doctor Bergemann; for 
he could not approve of their erring ways. Between 
the two closely allied companions a coldness had crept 
without, however, causing a complete rupture. 

Steiner’s appearance therefore in the “Holy of 
Holies” attracted general attention, which was owing 
as much to his long absence as to his respected and 
celebrated personality. 

Even vain Doctor Bergemann, who envied him his 
fame, stretched out to him his hand with an affected 
smile, and invited him, in what was meant to be a 
friendly way, to take the seat of honor beside him. 

On that day, as was usual after a new performance, 
or at the first appearance of some celebrated artist, 
there were a number of guests present in order to talk 
over the events of the day, or to obtain the opinion 
of the literary leader. 

At the head table sat the principals of the “Clique;” 
amongst them journalists, authors, editors and critics 
of the most influential newspapers; at their head the 
admired Doctor Bergemann, the Dalai-Lama of that 
modern brotherhood, like a divinity enveloped in a 
cloud, not of incense but of cigar smoke. Before him 
stood a glass of hot grog, from which occasionally he 
took copious draughts. From time to time he nodded 
his wise head in token of agreement with one or the 
other of his fanatical admirers, or with a contemptuous 
shrug of his shoulders expressed his disapprobation. 


PkINCE AND MUSICIAN 


35 


As yet, he maintained silence; the time had not come 
for him to speak. 

The subject of that heated debate was the artist who 
had just been heard — about whose musical talent there 
had arisen much discussion. While on the one side the 
greatest praise was lavished upon him, his adversaries 
tried to make light of his great talent, although they 
acknowledged that his technic was wonderful. 

The best critics and musicians joined in the dispute. 
In order to prove their opinions, the combating party 
were forced to even discuss the principles of art and 
the weightiest questions of esthetic science. 

Then, only from that higher standpoint, did the young 
savant take an interest in the struggle, for up to that 
time his thoughts had been preoccupied with the ad- 
venture of that day — with his meeting with the strange 
lady. 

Although he in no way underrated the importance of 
the celebrated artist, he had during the concert formed 
an opinion of the dangers of modern virtuosodofu, which 
he could not refrain from expressing, as the matter be- 
came worth participating in. 

"The nature, the essence of art,” said he, "is the 
revelation of the divine idea in the earthly form, and 
therefore it coincides originally with the religion and 
culture of the people. The first artist was the Priest 
of the Highest; his song a hymn, his work a sacrifice 
offered to the Godhead. Temples and the pictures of 
gods were the first creations of genius, songs of con- 
secration flowed from the lips of pious poets, and about 
the holy altar hovered the choir. To that origin Art 
in all lands and all times has remained true, in India 
and Eg3^pt, in Greece and Rome, in the ancient world 
and in the romantic Middle Ages. Even the present 


36 


PRINCE AND MUStCIA^^ 


cannot escape that influence, though it be tinged with 
doubt. To-day, as a thousand years ago. Art preserves 
her religious character, is, or should be at least, the 
priestess of the divine idea of truth and of beauty. 
But where that main condition of her nature is lack- 
ing, where she denies her divine origin — then, even 
•when she stands beside the greatest, most admirable 
talent, she becomes a caricature; she sinks into virtu- 
osodom, the representative of which that Norin, notwith- 
standing his great gifts and all his geniality, seems to 
me to be!” 

As Steiner in that manner expressed his opinion of 
the interesting hero of the day, a respectful silence 
was maintained. 

But critical Doctor Bergemann looked upon it as 
his duty, at the conclusion of his former friend’s speech, 
to contest his views of art and to hold them up to 
ridicule. 

“The devil!” he exclaimed in his high voice, “leave 
me in peace with your accursed religion and everything 
pertaining to it. Religion did not influence art, but, 
rather, man made her. She is an abortion of a heated, 
brain; between us, a great imprudence committed in 
the years of the youthful indiscretion of humanity. 
Can you deny that first of all fear and ignorance, 
later on conceit and self-deification, awake the belief 
in the supernatural? Priests gave the Indians and 
Egyptians their idols, artists and poets the Greeks 
their gods. Homer peopled Olympus, and Phidias 
created after him his Olympian Zeus; from a hero or 
a statesman came a Jupiter, and a handsome woman 
served as a model for Venus. The genius of the peo- 
ple is reflected in those gods; they are large and 
handsome; people who revel in nectar and ambrosia, 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


37 


who descend to earth from their heights, and with the 
daughters of earth enjoy the happiness of life and 
love.” 

“Such a religion is acceptable," slyly whispered the 
stout adjutant. "Of all the gods I know, I prefer old 
Jupiter, who to-day changes to a bull, to-morrow to a 
swan. Long live the holy Don Juan!” 

“Long live the holy Don Juan!” cried the chorus of 
the Clique, clinking glasses. 

Although the young savant did not wish to continue 
the debate, he saw no other way of defending the truth 
than by replying. 

The discussion had involuntarily assumed a personal 
form and had excited the entire assembly. Parties had 
been formed for and against it, and the result was 
breathlessly awaited. One young student in partic- 
ular seemed to be interested in Steiner, and his features 
betrayed the deepest sympathy. It would have been 
cowardly to have held back and to have allowed the 
lie to win. 

Steiner made another speech in which he upheld 
truth, beauty and art. 

Doctor Bergemann laughed mockingly and replied: 

“What is truth? What is true to-day will be false 
to-morrow. Morality changes with the times and the 
people. Genius cares not for your moral dogmas. It 
is just as absurd to expect morality in an artist like 
that Norin, as to expect virtue in an Alexander or 
a Caesar. Only a great personality is absolute, and 
the pure / the only true God.” 

With a demoniacal smile Doctor Bergemann con- 
cluded his speech which, even in that circle, aroused 
unusual wonder by its boldness. No one was more 
moved than the young scholar, 


38 


PRINCK AND MUSICIAN 


“The pure / is the only true God,” cried a philo- 
sophical young fellow, repeating his great brother's 
words. 

“There lies the God!” at the same moment cried a 
deep voice, two strong arms seized the daring man, 
raised him from his seat, and amid the resounding 
laughter of those present, dropped him upon the floor. 

The unexpected demonstration called forth an in- 
describable storm; while the members of the Clique 
hastened to the fallen man’s aid and threatened the 
bold assailant, the latter stood in the midst of that 
sea of people as calm and firm as a rock. 

Steiner too cast a surprised, almost mistrustful 
glance at his champion. It was the young student; 
his tall form, notwithstanding its youthfulness, had 
something imposing about it, while his frank face at- 
tracted. 

With folded arms, he seemed to be awaiting an at- 
tack. But the more prudent members of the society, 
above all Steiner, to whom that intermezzo was doubly 
painful, sought to calm the tumult by their interfer- 
ence. 

With difficulty did they finally succeed in prevent- 
ing the scandal of a public fight, the student assist- 
ing, by offering the insulted man all satisfaction, and 
with that object handed the latter his card, which 
bore the name of Walter Hellwig. 

Then, together with Steiner, he left the restaurant. 

“How came you,” asked the young savant, “to in- 
terfere in that quarrel, and in a manner which I in 
no way approve of?” 

“Because I have learned to love and honor you from 
your writings, because I could no longer listen to 
such bold denunciation.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


39 . 

“You have, for my sake, got yourself into a scrape 
which may have the most unpleasant results for you." 

“I do not care," replied Hellwig. “I am glad that I 
finally had an opportunity of proving to you my 
admiration, even if I should have to bear a scar after- 
ward. ’’ 

Steiner felt involuntarily drawn toward his new ac- 
quaintance, whose valor formed a striking contrast to 
the frivolity of Doctor Bergemann’s clique. With a 
hearty shake of the hand he parted from his new friend, 
meditating on the odd adventures and occurrences of 
the evening which contrasted so strangely with his 
hitherto so quiet life. 


V 


• THE AGENT 

A few days after those events the famous Norin sat 
in his elegant apartments busied with a new compo- 
sition. The furniture bespoke veritable princely lux- 
ury, the highest refinement, so that his study resem- 
bled the boudoir of a woman of the world rather than 
the work-room of an artist. He loved to surround 
himself with every comfort, with voluptuous pictures, 
with a hundred and one fashionable trifles, with 
costly bronzes, statuettes and antiquities, to breathe . 
an atmosphere of brilliancy and extravagance, for his 
spoiled nature required such charms and such con- 
stant excitement. 

His muse was the goddess of caprice, fickle and 
always seeking new impressions and excitement. Now 
he raved over the ancient world, over classical beauty, 
over the Venuses of Milo, over the Dianas of the 
Xouvre, copies of which looked down upon him from 
the walls; now he plunged deeply into the romantic 
Middle Ages and its poetry, by collecting about him 
rare miniatures, old weapons and naive holy pictures. 
Again, his impressionable fancy reveled in the brill- 
iant period of the Renaissance. 

All his treasures hung and lay scattered about. 
Images of gods, rare jugs of fine metal, silver cups 
of Italian and French workmanship, casts from the 
antique, mediaeval wood-carvings, modern bronzes,. 

40 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


41 


statues of the most celebrated poets and musicians, 
among them the death-mask of Beethoven. The writ- 
ing-desk at which Nofin sat was covered with letters, 
newspapers, and note-paper. 

He wore an exquisite morning-dress, a short house- 
jacket of black velvet with a white rolling shirt-collar. 
His long locks were carefully parted, so that he invol- 
untarily reminded one of the well-known picture of 
Raphael’s violin-player. Before him, in a porcelain 
vase, stood a bouquet of May-bells. 

From time to time he inhaled their perfume with 
evident enjoyment, and seemed to draw from them his 
musical inspiration. Hastily his pen flew over the 
paper, and a smile of satisfaction lingered upon his 
interesting face. Occasionally he rose from the writ- 
ing-desk and walked to the open piano in order to try 
the melody which had just occurred to him. Some- 
times the work did not proceed, and he sank into deep 
meditation, his handsome head leaning artistically 
upon his well cared-for hand. 

A light tap at the door aroused him from his dreams 
or memories. Upon his invitation to enter, appeared 
the virtuoso’s factotum, the Italian Giuseppe, who in 
his person combined the various characters of house- 
steward, private secretary, claquer and advertiser, and 
by that means exercised great influence over the 
virtuoso. 

Giuseppe Bertini was a born impresario and theater- 
agent, sly, reckless, full of energy where it concerned 
his master’s interests; with him he was hand-in-glove, 
for he received a large share of the profits. 

Without any musical or literary culture, he was 
possessed of wonderful penetration, an extraordinary 
knowledge of persons and things in the artistic world, 


42 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


an indefatigable activity, with which he put aside every 
obstacle and assured his master’s successes. He was 
never intimidated by anything; calmly he pursued his 
object, which he almost always attained, if not in a 
direct way. 

He cared entirely for his artist and did everything 
for him that he dared not do himself in his position. 
From Giuseppe emanated all the wonderful advertise- 
ments in the papers; he invented with admirable skill, 
those innumerable stories and piquant anecdotes, by 
means of which he kept the public in continual excite- 
ment. He, too, knew how to gain public favor, to win 
over the critics by flattery, when it could be done, and 
when not, by money. 

In a word, he was his master’s shadow. He fol- 
lowed him on his every step like a modern Mephisto- 
pheles in the foot-prints of a Faust. 

"What is it, Giuseppe?" asked the artist, looking 
up from his work. 

"Pardon, maestro,” replied the Italian, "if I am 
disturbing you, but business — " 

"You know I have nothing to do with business. 
You must settle that with my banker. Still I should 
like to know how the last receipts footed up. 

"Three hundred ducats, with mine deducted. We 
may be satisfied for a beginning." 

"I hope it will be better. What news is there — 
what do the papers have to offer?" 

"The story of a lady swooning at your concert. It 
is making a great sensation and will do good work." 

"Probably one of your inventions," laughed the 
virtuoso. 

"No, no, maestro! .This time I am innocent. The 
lady indeed fainted without my co-operation. Of 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 43 

course I used the incident to our advantage and em- 
bellished it somewhat.” 

“What had the critics to say of the concert?" 

"Fine things! I looked out for that. The German 
bears like honey, if they do grumble. Now they are 
singing your praises with one accord. All the news- 
papers laud you to the skies, the public is enthusias- 
tic, and the ladies, ah, the ladies are enraptured.” 

With those words the Italian made a grimace and 
simpered. 

“What do I care?” replied the virtuoso indifferently. 
“I have had enough of such things.” 

‘Every tree has its worm, every position its annoy- 
ances. We dare not scorn the ladies. They are our 
best customers. They rave, chatter, gossip, and make 
us famous. Do them the favor of allowing the poor 
creatures to adore you. Since yesterday we have re- 
ceived basketfuls of love-letters, flowers and poems.” 

“You can answer them.” 

“That is no small job; it will require a great exer- 
tion. You have the pleasure and I the trouble. And 
from whence am I to obtain all the locks of hair?" 

“You must obtain a fresh supply from the hair- 
dresser,” said Norin. 

“Per bacco! I will do so! Oh! you are a rogue! 
What a joke it will be to have them wear upon their 
bosoms in golden medallions the hair of some rascal or 
beggar! But that is not all. What shall we do with 
the invitations? We have received not less than 
twenty from excellencies, counts, and barons, from 
wealthy people, Jews, and Gentiles. One banker offers 
fifty zechiiii if you will honor his soirde with your 
presence and play for him. ” 

“Of course you refused him?” 


44 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“I did not. With your permission I accepted. 
Zechini are not to be found on the streets and the 
money is soon earned.” 

"I shall not go there though you promised a hun- 
dred times.” 

“Come, my friend! You will go there and play, 
because you must." 

“Rascal!" exclaimed the virtuoso. “I am tired of 
being led by you like a child; you seem to forget that 
I alone can decide and give orders here." 

“Do you think so?” replied the Italian with cutting 
sarcasm, while his eyes gleamed and the dark veins up- 
on his forehead swelled with rage. “I alone have 
made you what you are, have drawn you from nothing, 
have founded your good-fortune. Without me you 
would have proved a failure in Paris, like thousands 
of others, in spite of all your testimonials. With my 
aid you conquered all intrigues, all rivals. I have 
done everything for you, spared no pains, no labor, 
and have gone through fire and water. But you have 
to deal with no fool. Oh! I have anticipated this, and 
well know what measures to take. Try once without 
me and see how far you will get. The egg wishes to 
be more sensible than the hen. But I can overthrow 
you as easily as I raised you from the dust. I know 
all the by-ways and back-stairs by means of which 
one mounts to the Temple of Fame. Experience is a 
good teacher. Another will know how to appreciate 
my services and in four weeks’ time you shall have a 
rival before whom your reputation shall pale. You 
shall repent of your treatment of me." 

With those words the revengeful Italian turned 
toward the door in order to carry out his threat at 
once, but the virtuoso, although deeply wounded, tried 


PRINCE AND musician 


45 


to detain him, for he could not spare the sly negotia- 
tor. 

He knew from his own experience what power was 
at the reckless agent’s command, and that he was only 
too ready to make use of every allowable and not 
allowable means which would help him to attain his 
object. 

Giuseppe had only spoken the truth, when he re- 
minded Norin of the past. To him principally did he 
owe his present fame, his brilliant position, and large 
receipts. There was no lack of envious colleagues for 
whom a man like Bertini would have been a great 
acquisition. No one else understood the art of adver- 
tising, of overcoming all difficulties as he did. More- 
over, he knew all the weaknesses, all the secrets of 
his master whose right hand he was, an accommodat- 
ing, double-edged tool, as ready to be of use, as to 
harm. To him Bertini was the second if not the bet- 
ter half of his life, the necessary lever with which to 
clear all hindrances and annoyances out of the way; 
a moral lightning-conductor which kept at a distance 
all clouds and impure vapors, and permitted Norin to 
revel in the clear, pure ether of art without any fear. 

Those reasons therefore impelled him to surrender, 
although he was weary of that continual submission, 
and his better nature revolted at the connection. 

“Giuseppe!" said the virtuoso, pleasantly. “Do not 
be a fool! We were both wrong and it would be well 
to forget our little disagreement." 

“A good word always finds a good place and costs 
nothing. I am not stubborn and gladly accept your 
proffered hand. Wisdom brings peace, and peace 
blessings. Our interests go hand-in-hand and a golden 
chain binds firmer than iron.". 


46 


Prince and musician 


"You will not be offended? I meant nothing by my 
words.” 

"Words are not blows. The wounds inflicted by 
the tongue heal quicker than those inflicted by the 
dagger. Peace is concluded.” 

"And you will not leave me?” 

"Where should I go? We belong together like the 
Siamese twins, and cannot be separated and live. 
What you enjoy, nourishes me, and what harms you, 
makes me ill. One hand washes the other, and both 
wash the face. You can spare me as little as I you; 
you are my oil and I am your lamp, the ladder which 
serves to bear you upward and which you can not 
push aside without falling from the heights. I know 
the world, and how to handle it. He who is sly, 
attains the goal, and he who can conquer one difficulty 
can besiege thousands.” 

The sly agent’s torrent of words was interrupted by 
the entrance of Prince von Schwarzfels who wearily 
sank into the nearest chair, after having greeted the 
virtuoso. 

"Well,” said he with a smile, "how is the favorite 
of the gods, the spoiled child of the Muses, the pet of 
the ladies? Ah, you are the happiest and I the most 
miserable of men. My weary feet wander among the 
thorns of politics, while yours hover among perfumed 
roses and are borne from one triumph to another.” 

"And all I owe to your friendship and the kindness 
of your respected family, to whom I am deeply in- 
debted. ” 

"What they did for you was a mere trifle. Do not 
speak to me of debts; the word spoils my appetite. 
Let us rather speak of your successes, or of the women. 
But no! Women are no better than debts; they are 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


47 


only another kind of debts which molest us with stormy 
premonitions. One cannot free oneself from either if 
once one has any donnection with them, and yet one 
cannot do without them. They grow over our heads 
and draw us into ruin sooner or later.” 

‘‘You are in your Hamlet mood to day. I can 
scarcely recognize gay Prince Egon. What ails your 
excellence? ” 

‘‘Do not ask me,” replied the prince with a comical 
and yet serious sigh. ‘‘Perhaps I will tell you some 
day what troubles me. I slept badly and had a horri- 
ble dream. I dreamed of an old love. Such remem- 
brances are not pleasant, and I do not wish to annoy 
you with them. Besides, I am afraid I shall disturb 
your work and prevent the birth of some immortal mas- 
terpiece. If I am not mistaken, you are working at a 
new composition.” 

‘‘Only a triHe, a simple song without words,” replied 
the composer with embarrassment. 

‘‘So much the better! The Duchess von Taland 
commissioned me to invite you to her next soiree, 
which the king will likewise honor with his presence. 
His majesty, who is a great lover of art, raves over 
you, my dear friend! The Grand Duchess Alexan- 
drine, who is much too intelligent for a great lady, 
shares his enthusiasm, and calls you the ‘resurrected 
Gluck;’ she wishes to do as much for you as the 
lovely, unfortunate Marie Antoinette did for your great 
compatriot in Paris. Between us, she intends to en- 
snare you for her gallery of rare beasts, or to embalm 
you for her museum of immortals. The cross of honor 
and the title of a royal music-director you will surely 
not fail to obtain. Your position in the Capelle will 
be as good as assured, if you only wish to have it so. ” 


48 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“I do not scorn royal patronage, although I should 
not like to give up my independence which I have 
hitherto maintained.” 

‘‘There you are wrong, dear Norin! Art requires 
protection, and it is always better to serve one master 
than a thousand-headed monster with its caprices. 
You will, therefore, do well if you try to enter the 
king’s good graces by dedicating some composition to 
him. I will gladly help you. Come! Let me know 
the title, that I may put it upon my programme at 
once.” 

“May-bells!” said the artist, with some hesitation. 

“Charming! That sounds so full of promise, so 
spring-like, so sunny, so romantic. Just what his 
majesty likes! May-bells! That will make a sensation; 
it will turn all heads and hearts. Where did you get 
these piquant titles? No doubt behind it lies some 
secret; I should like to wager that those May-bells 
hide some story of love.” 

Suddenly the prince’s eyes fell upon the vase con- 
taining Countess Harrer’s bouquet. It only needed 
that discovery to make all clear to him. 

“ Voild!" cried he, laughing. “Now I am on the 
right path; the bouquet has betrayed you; I saw it 
yesterday in Countess Harrer’s hands, so we have her 
to thank for that fresh gift of genius.” 

“What are you thinking of?” cried the virtuoso in 
surprise. “I swear to you that I have heard the lady’s 
name for the first time from your lips, that I have 
never seen her, do not know her. ” 

“Then you will be so much the more grateful to me 
if I give you the opportunity of becoming acquainted 
with the lovely woman. You shall be introduced to 
her at the duchess’ soiree, on the condition that you 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


49 


play your ‘May-bells’ there for the first time. Will 
you accept my proposition? You can safely count on 
my discretion. I may then tell the duchess that you 
v/ill come and play?” 

“It will be a great honor,” replied the virtuoso with 
a bow. 

“Then it is settled! It is a pity that I have not the 
time to spare to listen to the charming composition 
now. I must leave you in order to be present at a 
meeting at which the president’s bell calls to order. 
AddtOy caro maestro! Dream of the fair fairy and let 
us hear your 'May-bells’ soon." 

With a smile the prince bowed and left the artist 
alone with the image of the countess, whom he soon 
would meet; 


VI 


TABLEAUX 

The Duchess of Taland’s palace streamed with light; 
stairs, hall, and corridors were transformed into a 
veritable flower-garden, and the rarest tropical plants 
charmed forth an artificial spring in the midst of win- 
ter. The air was warm, soft, and filled with perfume. 
Whatever refined luxury combined with the most excel- 
lent taste could offer, was offered there, and the fabu- 
lous wealth of the duchess enabled her to turn her 
rooms into fairy-like palaces, and to give the most 
brilliant gatherings at the Residence. 

The most magnificent treasures of art were there 
collected, costly pictures by old and modern masters 
hung upon the walls. An entire gallery of crowned 
heads, which her uncle, the great diplomatist, had 
received as presents from the originals. 

Not less interesting and valuable were the busts and 
statues of finest marble, each possessed of some 
peculiar history. 

These objects of art were surrounded b}^ the great 
luxury and tastefulness of soft carpets, furniture of the 
finest workmanship, rich hangings, and those things 
which constitute the furnishings of a palatial resi- 
dence, all in harmony one with another. ^ 

The rooms were gradually filled with the invited 
guests, with the dite of society, representing birth, 
wealth, beauty and talent, with the aristocrats of the . 


PRINC£ AND MUSICIAN 


51 


land, crowned heads, the diplomatic corps, and the 
military charges, with gold-embroidered uniforms and 
dazzling nonentities, as well as with the true nobility 
of science and art. 

Into such an assembly the celebrated artist entered 
with that assurance which he had acquired in his asso- 
ciation with the best society in Paris. 

The duchess greeted him with her complaisant 
smile, while the prince, who here played the part of 
master of ceremonies, offered him his hand familiarly. 
His reception could not have been more flattering, all 
eyes, all lorgnettes were turned upon him; the loveli- 
est eyes gazed at him; the most charming lips smiled 
upon him, and whispered his name with admiration. 
Even the envious men were forced to notice his inter- 
esting appearance, and to acknowledge his distin- 
guished bearing. 

Only the arrival of the king turned the general 
attention from the virtuoso into another channel. 
Prince von Schwarzfels hastened to the stairs to meet 
the exalted guest; the duchess received him at the 
door with a low bow and thanked him for the honor ac- 
corded her. On her arm the monarch passed through 
the brilliant assembly, followed by his suite, nodding 
pleasantly to the right and left. 

Suddenly he turned his lorgnette, .for he was short- 
sighted, upon the tall, conspicuous form of the artist, 
before whom he remained standing. 

“See!” cried the king. “Orpheus, not in Tartarus, 
but in Elysium, whose music charms man and gods, 
tames beasts and moves stones.” 

“Your majesty is too kind. Our times know no 
miracles. ” 

“The true artist proves the contrary and still works 


52 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


wonders, as your example shows; he constrains the 
beast in the human breast, and the hardened heart 
melts to-day under the power of tones. You are in- 
deed such a magician. I hope to-day you will give us 
a new proof of your art. Our amiable hostess has 
promised me a great treat, and you will surely keep 
your word to her and me." 

"I will do what lies in my power in order to fulfill 
the wishes of your majesty." 

"I am pleased to hear that, for my poor ears must 
hear so many false tones and discordant sounds, that 
a bath of purity will do them good. One need not be 
a King Saul in order to long for the tones of David’s 
harp. You need not fear, either, that in an attack of 
ill-nature I shall cast a lance at you. Rather would 
I raise you to the knighthood of some new order of 
merit. " 

With those gracious words the king passed on with- 
out awaiting the thanks of the astonished artist, who 
was envied by all the bystanders. 

In spite of that acknowledgment of his talent, and 
his flattering social reception, Norin missed the only 
magnet which had attracted him to the duchess’ salon 
with irresistible power. In vain did his eyes seek the 
lovely Countess Harrer. A certain timidity restrained 
him from asking the prince for her, and besides, the 
prince was too much occupied by the king’s presence 
and the arangements for the fete, so that he caught a 
glimpse of him rarely. 

Disappointed, the envied artist withdrew to a cor- 
ner of the salon in which he could pursue his dreams 
and thoughts undisturbed, while at a given sign the 
fete prepared for the entertainment of the royal guest 
began. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


53 


To the sound of music the curtain before a small 
improvised stage rose, and exhibited a number of tab- 
leaux from the masterpieces of celebrated artists. First 
was to be seen the “Lorelei" upon her high rock, a 
wonderfully beautiful woman with luxuriant fair hair, 
her seductive lyre in her hand. Then Tasso at the 
Court of Ferrara, a merry Flemish market-scene, cru- 
saders and pilgrims in the desert, the sorrowing royal 
couple from Lessing’s, then much-admired painting, 
and pretty Rebecca at the Well, by Hcwrace Vernet. 

Like a wilful child Norin closed his eyes to the 
combination of youth, grace and beauty, because his 
hope of seeing the lovely countess there, had not been 
fulfilled. 

Involuntarily he thought of her. Her absence only 
served to increase his yearning, and rendered him 
insensible to the charms of all those handsome women. 

Momentarily his impatience increased; he was bored 
amid that brilliant throng, and only the wish ex- 
pressed by the king to hear his latest composition, de- 
tained him in the salon. 

But his work, of which he could have been so proud, 
had lost all of its significance for him; for the only 
one was lacking who had inspired him to write it. It 
was as if he were to play to deaf ears. 

Only the touching music by Prince Radziwill of 
Goethe’s “Faust,” which announced a new picture, at 
length touched a sympathetic chord in Norin’s heart. 
A soft murmur of admiration at the same time passed 
through the assembly and attracted his attention, so 
that he fixed his eyes upon the stage. 

With body bent forward, he gazed at the bewitching 
tableau. 

There, upon an old, carved chair, sat the most charm- . 


54 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


ing of Goethe’s women before a spinning-wheel in a 
blue, old-German gown, her charming head, with its 
wealth of golden hair, leaning pensively upon her 
white hand, dreamily lost in love’s pleasures and 
pains. 

Was it fact or fiction, the countess herself, or 
“Gretchen’s" touching form, her pale cheeks slightly 
flushed, and her wonderful eyes filled with the fire of 
an unfamiliar glow, animated by innocence and desire, 
while her sweef lips seemed to whisper softly: “My 
peace has flown, my heart is heavy. ’’ 

It was the embodiment of poetry, which spoke so 
wonderfully to all hearts that even that sated, dissi- 
pated assemblage could not restrain a feeling of deep 
emotion. 

“Wonderful!” whispered the delighted king, and 
his exclamation was echoed a hundred times. 

Suddenly the form of the lovely Gretchen became 
animated, her limbs trembled slightly, her bosom 
heaved beneath its blue gown. Only with difficulty 
could she maintain her pose until the curtain fell. 

He alone, with the penetration of love, observed the 
tremor, the pallor, and instinctively he divined the 
cause. 

“She loves, but who is the happy man? If she 
should love me!” 

So thought and hoped 'the celebrated artist, as he 
glanced at the charming woman. 


VII 



THE MAY-BELLS 

. The loud applause which greeted the falling of the 
curtain, aroused Norin from his reverie. The ladies 
and gentlemen who had taken part in the tableaux 
mingled with the guests, wearing their gay attire, wliich 
lent a fantastic character to the fete. 

The charming Gretchen, or rather Countess Harrer, 
was at once surrounded by a swarm of admirers who 
expressed their admiration irankly. 

“Upon 'my honor,’’ said one gallant prince, "Hagen 
herself would have to give place to you, madame. 
Were you to play the role, there would not be an 
empty seat in the theater. ’’ 

‘Celestial, superb!’’ lisped another. “You are the 
personification of innocence, of naivete." 

Praises resounded from all sides; even the king ut- 
tered several complimentary phrases. But the countess 
sought to escape that admiration, and offered her hus- 
band her hand that he might lead her from the midst 
of the ever-increasing throng and the nauseating com- 
pliments. 

Suddenly she started so violently that the colonel 
paused and looked at her in astonishment. 

“You are so pale and nervous. What ails you?” 
he asked, anxiously. 

“Nothing, nothing at all!” she replied in confusion. 
"I think that the heat of the room, the strain during 

55 


S6 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


the representation, have affected me somewhat. But 
it will pass over.” 

“That is the fault of those miserable tableaux," 
scolded the colonel. "I dislike such exhibitions; they 
are highly distasteful to me." 

"You know how I strove against it, but the duchess 
implored me so because Fraulein von Zechlin was 
taken suddenly ill and had to be excused. Only to 
oblige her did I fill the place." 

"Of course it could not be helped this time, but in 
future, I do not wish — " 

Again she started as if threatened by some great 
danger. She had not been mistaken, there was the 
artist by the side of Prince von Schwarzfels. The 
next moment the promised introduction was given. 

A few empty phrases, low bows on both sides, appar- 
ently without any signification; but beneath that calm 
surface trembled the deepest emotion. While their 
faces simulated the most perfect composure their 
hearts beat tumultuously. 

The empty words exchanged between Ada and Norin 
had, under the circumstances, a deeper meaning. The 
stereotyped phrases found expression in fiery glances. 

Carelessly the prince fanned the flame, while the 
colonel stood by unsuspectingly and laughed good- 
naturedly at the prince’s witty remarks, while he ad- 
mired his handsome wife’s reserved manner, observed 
the virtuoso’s delicate tact and pleasant ways, and 
began to repent of his former prejudice. 

Whoever could have seen that harmless group at 
that moment, would surely not have foreseen that in 
secret a social tragedy was being prepared — that mer- 
ciless fate with invisible hands was already pointing 
out its sacrifices. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


57 


The formal introduction, and the short conversation 
which followed, was interrupted by the duchess, who, 
in a flattering manner, besought the artist to play his 
latest composition. 

JT am sorry,” said she, "that I must take you from 
our dear countess, but his majesty is waiting, and 
easily grows impatient; he wishes to hear your 
magical song.” 

“What song?” asked Ada. 

“Maystbells!” cried the prince with emphasis, as he 
smiled mysteriously and glanced at the duchess. “Is 
not,” said the latter, evidently without any object, “is 
not the title original, charming!” 

“Charming!” stammered Ada with a blush. 

Fortunately the colonel noticed neither her con- 
fusion nor the virtuoso’s embarrassment. Norin with 
a low reverence left the group in order to begin the 
anxiously awaited concert. 

The strings of the instrument were stirred by a 
spring breeze. Springs rippled, and the evening air 
whispered among the tender, young foliage. Elves 
danced in the moonlight, flower-spirits rose from the 
open chalices and sang sweetly and seductively of 
spring jo5^s and of the happiness of love. 

Clear bells, so charming and so musical, invited to 
the merry fete, and no one could refuse to come. The 
May-bells rang, woods and plains awoke, and in all 
the bushes and branches a new life stirred. Every- 
where sprouted, pressed, budded, blossoms opened; 
nightingales warbled and rejoiced; shepherds and 
shepherdesses caressed one another, and in the dis- 
tance the huntsman blew his horn. 

From among the harmonious chorus could be dis- 
tinguished two voices, a happy pair of lovers, youth 


58 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

and maiden, he imploring, flattering, cajoling, she 
trembling, timid and refusing him his request, until 
he forced from her heart the sweet secret and she sank 
into his arms. 

The May-bells rang sweetly and called the flower- 
spirits and elves to the wedding celebration. They 
sang of the great happiness on earth, of the bliss of 
the first kiss, of the heart’s felicity. Louder rippled 
the springs, more passionately twittered the nightin- 
gales, still clearer rang the bridal song of nature with 
its celestial tones, which gradually died away. 

The artist had surpassed hirhseif; never had he 
played with such deep feeling, such tender expression. 
Love seemed to have permeated his last composition; 
the most ardent passion filled his soul, animated his 
hands. 

He thought only of Ada, he played for her alone at 
that moment; to her alone he spoke in sweet tones, in 
enchanting harmonies; he rang the tell-tale May-bells 
which he had chosen as a secret messenger of his pas- 
sion, to whom he had entrusted the secret of his love. 

She heard and understood only too well the seduc- 
tive language to which she alone possessed the key. 
Had it been in words, she would probably have turned 
away in anger, have scorned the tempter, and have 
turned a deaf ear; but the power of music, of tones, 
lent the seduction a charm which concealed the sinful 
inclination and ensnared the heart with subtle flattery. 
Yet she felt the secret sin; her womanly dignity strug- 
gled, her sense of duty rebelled; she silently strove 
against the insinuating voices within her own breast. 

She wished to rise and leave the room as soon as 
Norin had finished his number, but she feared to 
attract attention by such an action and also to arouse 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


59 


suspicion. Against her will she was forced to remain 
by her husband’s side and to affect the most perfect 
composure, while in reality her bosom was torn by 
conflicting sensations. 

To her delight the guests were themselves too much 
impressed to heed her perplexity. 

All pressed around the genial artist to pay court to 
him, to thank him. A number of the handsomest 
women, at their head the Duchess of Taland, strove 
for one glance, one word from the hero of the hour. 

“May-bells! Celestial, delightful!” issued from hun- 
dreds of lips. 

“Our modern priestesses of Bacchus,” said a sarcas- 
tic diplomatist, “will tear this new Orpheus to pieces 
in their passion, and share his bloody limbs.” 

“Madness is contagious,” replied a celebrated trav- 
eler, “I believe that in each of those lovely women 
there is a Nero, who wished to kill his mistress in 
order to discover the charm which had fascinated 
him. But our ladies are deceived; they will find noth- 
ing, the virtuoso has no heart.” 

The countess, too, was secretly disgusted with the 
comedy being enacted; she felt wounded, repelled, 
and therefore avoided the vicinity of the artist who 
sought her everywhere in vain. Her cheeks glowed, 
her head burned, her heart throbbed, her nerves quiv- 
ered and wherever she turned she could hear the be- 
witching melody of the seductive May-bells. 

Everyone was enthusiastic over it. Ada alone dared 
not speak, dared not look up, for fear she might be- 
tray her secret. She fancied all lips were whispering 
of it, all eyes following her, all fingers pointing to her. 

She could remain in the hall no longer; she could 
not bear the sly smiles of the men, the compromising 


6o 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


whispers of the ladies, both of which existed only in 
her imagination. 

“Let us go!” said she to the colonel, who was beside 
her. “I feel ill and fear an attack of my headache.” 

“Impossible!” replied he, firmly. “The prince has 
engaged me to take a hand at cards with his majesty, 
and of course I accepted the honor. You must see 
that 1 cannot draw back, even for your sake.” 

“Unfortunately!” sighed she. “I will not disturb 
you, but will drive home alone.” 

“Of what are you thinking? I cannot allow that. 

I should not be comfortable, did I not know you to be 
near me. And then the questions which would arise! 
They might fancy the most terrible things, and the 
duchess might feel offended.” 

“And yet I do not wish to ^remain any longer! 
Believe me, it would be better were I to leave now. 
Do not detain me, I implore you!” 

It seemed as if Ada feared the theatening danger, as 
if she wished to fly the temptation; but the unsuspicious 
.colonel did not see with open eyes, did not hear with 
open ears, his wife’s cry of anguish; he did not under- 
stand her urgent prayer, her feverish excitement. 

Pioud of the honor accorded him, he hastened to 
the king’s card-table, and in his thoughtlessness left 
the weak woman alone with her weakness, her anguish 
of soul. 

Possessed with a secret unrest, Ada fled from the 
room, the atmosphere of which threatened to suffocate 
her, through the magnificent rooms to the familiar 
pavilion which bordered on the duchess’ orangery. 
Here she thought herself free from the glances of the 
guests, from the irresistible charm of the virtuoso. 

In the adjoining pavilion reigned a pleasant still- 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


6l 


ness, a refreshing coolness, which contrasted agreeably 
with the loud bustle and oppressive sultriness of the 
drawing-room. 

The fountain splashed lightly. A soft divan in a 
cozy corner, shaded by a canopy of plants, invited the 
exhausted woman to a seat, and she soon gave herself 
up to dangerous dreams. 

The tones of the song of spring and love rang in 
her ears. 

She still felt as if in a dream, when the heavy velvet 
portieres opened softly, and in the aperture appeared 
Norin, more fascinating than ever. At the unex- 
pected sight of him she awoke, and a slight tremor of 
her body, the heaving of her bosom, the flush upon 
her cheeks, betrayed her confusion, and his approach- 
ing good-fortune. 

She sprang up from the divan as if to fly, but her 
weak limbs would not bear her away, and, as if rooted 
to the spot by his magnetic glances, she could not 
move a foot. 

She thought of the charm ascribed to him, for an 
indescribable fear possessed the poor woman; her 
heart fluttered like a lamed bird in the vicinity of the 
snake which it tried in vain to escape. 

She stood there as pale and mute as the statues 
around her, with a beseeching expression and uplifted 
arms. 

He did not speak either, but his lips pressed an 
ardent, burning kiss upon her cold hand, which she 
could not draw from him. 

It was so quiet in the pavilion that the beating of 
their hearts could be heard, but it required no words, 
no explanations to prove that he loved her. 




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I 


THE TEMPTATION 

Since her meeting with the celebrated artist, Ada 
had fallen a prey to the demoniacal passion for the 
genial virtuoso to which so many women before her 
had become victims. But she struggled against it 
with all her W’omanly dignity and strength, for the 
danger was no secret to her. 

She had resolved not to again meet the artist, and 
to avoid every opportunity of doing so. Like a timid 
child she clung so much the more closely to the hon- 
orable man who, unfortunately, had no suspicion of 
the feelings of her heart. 

Just at the moment when she required his presence 
the most, he found it necessary to set out upon a tour 
of military inspection. 

That news, usually so indifferent to her, caused her 
so much uneasiness that she besought him to allow her 
to accompany him, and to leave the Residence with 
him. 

"That cannot well be done,” said the colonel, 
"although I should like to gratify your every wish. 
It would arouse comment and make me appear absurd. 
Moreover, the great distance and haste of the journey 
would, in your condition, render it impossible for you 
to accompany me. You know the doctor has recom- 
mended rest and care of your nejrves. ” 

"I do not think he understands my case. From 

65 


?RINCE AND MUSICIAN 


66 


experience I know that pleasure and excitement agree 
with me the best.” 

"Buit I told you it was not a pleasure-trip, therefore, 
forget about it, foa: under no condition will I consent." 

"Oh! Then I am lost," murmured Ada tearfully. 

"That is too bad," replied the colonel irritably. 
‘‘Your caprices exceed all bounds, and I really believe, 
up to this time, I have been too indulgent." 

Ada did not reply; she was wounded, for she was 
conscious of her aim. After her husband’s departure, 
the countess tried to protect herself from temptation 
by self-imposed retirement; but the sense of loneliness 
only served to nourish her passion. 

Wherever she went, whatever she did, she saw 
Norin’s image. She could take up no newspaper with- 
out reading his praises. 

The visitors, whom she could not refuse to see, 
spoke only of him; even the duchess raved about him 
and his successes. 

Norin himself had hoped to nTeet the countess again 
in society. . Torn by longing, by doubt, vacillating 
between fear and hope, he fancied he had vexed her 
by his passion in the duchess’ salon. But her resist- 
ance, the conviction that he had to deal with no ordi- 
nary woman, piqued his self-love and urged him to a 
decisive step. 

His triumphs hitherto achieved were matters of in- 
difference to him; as usual, they did not satisfy him. 
From youth, his artistic soul had followed a poetical 
idea, which he, when it was found, tore foolishly to 
pieces as a thoughtless boy would a butterfly. 

So his thoughts followed Ada, and the happiness he 
might enjoy with her.* In her he saw the embodiment 
of his ideal. 


67 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

The thought that the countess was already another’s, 
could not frighten a man like Norin, for he was in the 
habit of disregarding the bounds of morality, and knew 
no other law than the satisfying of his subjective 
wishes. 

For him the power of passion was an excuse for 
everything. 

Scorning the obstacles in his way, Norin obeyed 
the momentary impulse of his heart, and called at 
the Countess Harrer’s. 

In surprise she held his card in her hand, doubtful 
as to whether she should receive him, while the old 
servant respectfully awaited her reply. Only the door 
separated her from the beloved man; one word from 
her and the bonds would fall. Woman, too, has her 
Rubicon, beside which she stands thoughtfully before 
she determines to take the decisive step. One moment 
decides her fate, one word her entire life. Fearfully 
she hesitated on that fatal border, to cross which 
would divide her forever from her family, the world, 
and home; would snap asunder all the cherished ties. 

Such thoughts filled Ada’s mind as she held Norin’s 
card in her trembling hands, and gazed mechanically 
at the only too familiar name. 

“Shall I admit the gentleman?” asked the servant. 
“He is waiting in the ante-room.” 

Ada started, for she thought herself alone. Old 
Frederick’s voice sounded reproachful, like a premo- 
nition of her own conscience. 

“No, no! ” cried she in jvild haste. “I cannot receive 
him, I feel too ill.” 

The servant withdrew; when he had gone, she would 
gladly have called him back; only a feeling of shame, 
the fear of compromising herself, restrained her. Invol- 


68 


Prince and MUSICIA^f 


untarily she hastened to the door in order to listen. 

She only heard Norin express his regret in a tone 
in which she divined surprise and vexation. She must 
see him, if she could not speak to him. 

Concealed behind the curtains’ she watched him as 
he left the house. His face betrayed disappointed 
hope, wounded love. She had insulted him; he must 
consider her weak and capricious and must doubt her 
love for him. 

Once more he turned, he looked up at her; notwith- 
standing her hiding-place he had seen her, as his 
respectful bow, his melancholy smile, betokened. 

Blushing and confused she retreated from the win- 
dow, and sank exhausted by her struggle upon the 
sofa, while hot tears filled her eyes; regret and shame, 
fear and discontent, agitated her bosom. 

She hated herself for her cowardice, for her weak- 
ness, her indecision, for she had neither the courage 
to follow temptation, nor to resist it. 

In her opinion he must despise her for her childish, 
hesitating manner, for her evident cowardice. 

As she was considering what course to pursue in 
that false position, the old servant returned. In his 
hand he held a roll of paper which was -tied with a 
white silk ribbon. 

"What is it?" asked Ada, displeased at the inter- 
ruption. 

"The gentleman whom madame refused to see, gave 
me this paper." 

"Very well," said she with difficulty; "lay it on 
my desk. You may go.” 

Only when he had left her, did she dare to touch 
the fatal roll. With trembling fingers she hastily 
untied the bows of ribbon, opened the elegant cover, 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 69 

and Norin’s new composition "May-bells” met her 
gaze, with a respectful dedication to Ada. 

While she had repelled and insulted him, he had 
left her a fresh token of his love, his inclination. No 
woman in her circle would have despised such a 
preference. 

Though she had been strong, or rather weak enough 
not to receive his visit, she could not possibly refuse 
that attention without wounding him mortally. 

Politeness required that she should thank him for 
so valuable a gift. With that object in view Ada 
seated herself at her desk; from her portfolio she 
took a sheet of paper, while in her hand she held the 
ivory and gold pen. 

But never had a letter been harder to write; for a 
long time she sat there meditating, her head upon her 
hands, her eyes fixed upon the wall. 

Hastily she wrote several lines upon the paper, but 
when she read them over they seemed to her so cold 
and meaningless that she tore the letter up, and threw 
it into the waste-basket beside her. The second sheet 
had no better fate. 

She finally finished a letter in which she regretted 
her indisposition, and, of coilrse, invited him to call 
again. She involuntarily went farther than she had 
originally intended. 

It did not require any special encouragement to 
bring him back to her feet, for he loved her more than 
he had ever loved a woman. Compared with her, all 
his former connections seemed as naught. 

He reveled in the thought of realizing that ideal of 
his life, of finding a soul which understood him, which 
should belong to him forever, regardless of all worldly 
ties. 


70 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


Only such a love offered the spoiled virtuoso any 
charm, in that it raised him above the daily common- 
alities of life. 

The mood in which Norin approached the countess 
found an echo in her own heart and helped to calm 
her rising anxiety, to soothe the qualms of conscience. 

She had no reason to doubt his sincerity, and there- 
fore she submitted so much easier to the temptation 
which appeared to her with the crown of art, and in 
the garb of poetry. 

With delight she listened now to the words, now 
to the tones of Norin, in which he unfolded before her 
his better nature, and raised her above herself. 

At such times the selfish virtuoso disappeared before 
the true artist. 

True love is indeed the spring-time of life; it awakes 
all slumbering germs, all the buds of the mind, the 
hidden forces of the disposition. Our hearts beneath 
its touch resemble the singing Memnon in the desert, 
which, animated by the rays of the rising sun, breaks 
forth into holy songs and hymns. 

The greatest happiness had fallen to the share of 
Norin and Ada. When at twilight the former sat at 
the latter’s feet, looked into her dove-like eyes, he felt 
as free from every earthly wish as from every impure 
desire. 

Like the fainting wanderer in the desert she swal- 
lowed the intoxicating potion which the hand of love 
held out to her, without suspecting the dangerous 
poison at the bottom of the chalice. 

So the days and weeks passed with wonderful rapid- 
ity for the lovers, and in the enjoyment of the present, 
they forgot the future and the world, by which they 
were not forgotten. 


II 


► love’s struggles 

i The frequent visits of the virtuoso to the countess’ 
house could not, in spite of the size of the town, 
remain long unnoticed, especially as Norin was the 
. hero of the day, and the countess, owing to her beauty 

■ and social position, was a target for malicious scandal. 

Conscious of her innocence, assured by the hitherto 
pure nature of her connection, Ada scorned all precau- 
tions and anything that pertained to secrecy. She 
, thought only of the idealism of her love, in the milfual 
intercourse of mind with mind. She asked nothing 
else than to see Norin, to listen to his words, his 

■ melodies. 

The infidelity to her absent husband did not appear 
: to her in a culpable light, for she had nothing in com- 
} mon with him,, and notwithstanding their many years 
I of wedded life, she was as much of a stranger to him 
; as on the first day of their acquaintance. According 
* to her opinion, she broke none of her vows if she 
" honored genius, and built a temple to genius in the 
vacant spot in her heart which the count had never 
claimed. 

k For years she had pined and yearned; and now when 
f the refreshing spring bubbled forth, should she pass 
! it by and remain as miserable as ever? 

( In that way Ada excused her-iolf, her relations to- 

71 


72 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


ward Norin, and tried from time to time to soothe her 
awakening consciousness. 

The world, however, judged differently of Countess 
Harrer’s alliance with the famous virtuoso. At first 
the piquant news was simply whispered from one to 
another; the elect smiled and looked at each other 
knowingly when either Norin’s or Ada’s name was 
accidentally mentioned. No one doubted the countess’ 
guilt and it was especially noticeable that her own 
sex condemned her the most, and the most cruell}'. 

Even in the Duchess von Taland’s salon the matter 
was talked over. 

"I fear,” said the duchess, ‘‘that our little countess 
will compromise herself by her passion for our friend, 
and will make herself unhapp 3 \ Such women do not 
possess the necessary shrewdness and energy which pas- 
sion demands. They only do things by halves, which 
always leads to destruction. In love, as in gaiming, 
one must stake everything and cry ^Va banqtie.^ 
He who wavers or hesitates, he who cares anxiously 
for his fame or the opinion of the world, he who has 
religious or moral qualms, is surely lost.” 

‘‘I am sorry for the poor woman, ” replied the prince, 
only to make some reply, for his thoughts were far 
away. 

‘‘She cannot be saved. 1 know that. Such women 
are always unhappy because nature made them too 
tender. Wax melts in the fire. However, I did not 
credit her with being so bold. What presumption for 
her to love a man like that Norin! The child does 
not suspect the danger, and toys with the gay reptile. 
The heart of an artist is as large and as deep as the 
sea, but unfathomable, full of shallows and rocks. 
Only the bold diver fetches the pearl from its depths; 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


73 


the timorous swimmer sinks and is swallowed by the 
treacherous waves." 

"It almost seems," replied -the prince, with a mock- 
ing smile, "as if you envied the countess the danger. ’’ 

"I did not think you jealous, but I am glad that 
you can be. You have nothing to fear, that you know, 
my friend. If I should ever cease to love you, I will 
tell you frankly, for I should expect the same candor 
from you. Love can only thrive in freedom; all force 
is death to it. I admire Norin; I honor his talent as 
I should in anyone. Therefore I am interested in his 
fate, and should like to rescue him and the countess 
with him. As his friend, you should warn him." 

"Will a lover listen to the voice of reason? When 
passion speaks all consideration disappears," replied 
the prince, sighing involuntarily. 

"Yet we must do our duty. The danger is greater 
and nearer than you think. When the count returns- 
there will undoubtedly be explanations and a scandal. 
I know the colonel, who, in such matters, will brook 
no nonsense, and who is an excellent shot. It would 
grieve me if such a talented person should end in that 
manner. But even should Norin live, he is still more 
to be pitied. Bound to a woman who clings to him 
like a millstone and hinders his every step, he will 
sooner or later be ruined if he does not forcibly burst 
the bonds, which he cannot do without a painful 
struggle, without the greatest sacrifice, and which he 
will do, perhaps, when it is too late." 

Indeed, the prince determined to speak seriously 
with Norin as to the danger, and at least to warn him; 
but, as ill-luck would have it, he did not find the vir- 
tuoso at home, and Norin, likewise, never found the 
prince, for the latter was more busy than usual with 


74 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


politics and care for the result of his last adventure. 

So various circumstances combined to aid the two 
lovers in their dangerous assurance, from which they 
were first startled by the unexpected return of the 
count, although he, of course, had no suspicion of the 
change which had taken place during his absence. 

His appearance alone, however, sufficed to convince 
Ada of the nature of her feelings, and of the greatness 
of the danger. Like a sonnambulist on hearing her 
name, she awoke from her dream as she heard his 
voice, saw his face again. 

Only with the greatest effort could she stand erect 
when he greeted her with his usual affection. Silently, 
and in embarrassment she returned his kiss, answered 
his loving questions as to her health. 

She was still too unskilled in the art of deception 
to hide her deep emotion from him; but the colonel 
paid no heed to it, and ascribed her embarrassment to 
her vexation at their parting. 

He redoubled his attention, overwhelmed her with 
new proofs of his love, which, in her position, must 
have oppressed her. 

“I owe you an apology," said he. 

"I do not remember for what,” replied the countess, 
raising her eyes. 

"I have a better memory. It was unkind of me to 
refuse your request to take you with me on my jour- 
ney, and to leave you here alone. You are not angry 
with me still, are you?” 

‘‘No, no!” she murmured, with increasing embar- 
rassment. ‘‘It was your will." 

‘‘And it was for your good, out of respect for your 
delicate health; but I should, perhaps, have been 
kinder toward you. I was indeed too harsh, and on 
the way reproached myself bitterly." 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


75 


"Ah! You are too good, too thoughtful!” 

"You must forgive the old soldier, for he loves you 
with all his heart and only desires your happiness. 
But I have sought to repair the wrong. I thought of 
it when I ordered this trifle for you.” 

"You make me ashamed.” 

"My present will only have worth if you wear it, 
and it must remind you of the husband who knows no 
other happiness than your love.” 

With those words the count handed his wife a mag- 
nificent case of blue velvet, with her initials and arms 
upon it; upon the rich velvet gleamed a golden, finely- 
wrought bracelet, set with brilliants, in the center of 
which was his picture. 

At the sight of his likeness Ada uttered a slight 
exclamation; her cheeks turned pale, and her hands 
in which she held the bracelet trembled so violently 
that she almost let it fall. 

"Well! Well!” smiled the count, good-naturedly. 
"You are as startled as if you had seen a ghost.” 

"It was only the surprise,” stammered the guilty 
wife. "I am so nervous, so suffering.” 

"Poor child!” replied he, with paternal sympathy. 

"And I have not even thanked you for the costly 
gift.” 

She offered him her cold hand, which he covered 
with his kisses. His caresses, all those proofs of his 
warm attachment, pained her more than the bitterest 
reproaches would have done. She suffered untold agony 
until he finally left her, in order to rest after his long 
journey. 

Sobbing, she sank upon the sofa and buried her 
face in both hands so as not to see the costly bracelet 
which glittered in its open case. She could not bear 


76 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


to see it; she sprang up and closed the case, which 
she concealed in the drawer of her toilette-table. 

But she could not forget his picture; it haunted her 
with its faithful, loving features, which breathed of 
ingratitude, infidelity to the best of husbands. 

For the first time she saw the abyss at her feet, the 
threatening temptation, and suspected the depth and 
at the same time the guilt of her inclination. The 
veil was thrust aside and the terrible Medusa-head of 
secret guilt stared her in the face. 

Remorse rose in her bosom and warned her of her 
duty. She would go to her injured husband, fall at 
his feet and confess all. She was not yet culpable; 
only in her thoughts had she sinned, therefore she 
could hope for pardon. 

Still, fear of her husband, whose code of honor was 
so rigid, detained her. She felt too weak to bear his 
anger, his just reproaches. She knew him too well, 
and knew that he would not understand her, that he 
would consider her more guilty than she really was. 

She feared more for his anger against Norin than 
against herself. The slightest suspicion might cause 
the death of her beloved, for the colonel guarded his 
honor jealously. 

One means alone remained to her. It was to sever 
all connection with Norin; but she overrated her own 
strength, while she mistook the force of her passion. 
She who once has tasted of the forbidden fruit, cannot 
turn back, even if she would. 

She had not the courage to give up what to her 
meant death! What value would life have for her 
were she to see her beloved no more, to hear his voice 
no more, to listen no more to his grand conceptions? 

Thus strove the unhappy woman with her heart and 


fRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


77 


her duty, without finding any outlet, without forming 
any decision. Her head burned feverishly and an 
unspeakable anguish contracted her breast. It seemed 
to her as if the ceiling were bearing down upon her in 
order to suffocate her. She must obtain fresh air; she 
must open the window in order not to perish. 

The fresh air did her good and calmed her excited 
blood; she leaned her heated cheeks against the cool 
window-panes, and looked out into the dark night. 

It was as quiet as if all the world were dead; only 
in the tree-tops the night-wind sighed like a poor soul 
which could not even rest in the grave. 

The moon hid her pale face behind heavy clouds. 
Suddenly Ada started as if electrified. 

^he heard her name distinctly. 

"Ada!” whispered a voice in the stilly night. 

She dared not reply; her breath came in gasps, her 
heart pulsated so violently that she could count Its 
beats. 

"Ada!” was repeated louder and more distinctly. 

She had not been mistaken. Hidden behind the 
trees stood a dark, tall form wrapped in a cloak. 

It was Norin. She had recognized him; but the 
sight of him filled her with such anguish that she only 
possessed sufficient strength to make an- imploring, 
evasive gesture. 

Once more he extended his arms, then he vanished 
like a shadow in the darkness. 

"Ah, how he loves me!” she murmured, as she hast- 
ily closed the window, and, almost fainting, tottered to 
her bed. 


Ill 


ON THE BRINK OF THE ABYSS 

Since the count’s return from his journey, there had 
been no outward change in his relations toward his 
wife; there was no sign, no symptom of the approach- 
ing catastrophe, and even the closest observer could 
discover nothing striking or surprising about them. 

Ada’s low-spirited mood was nothing very extraor- 
dinary, for she frequentl}^ had such nervous attacks. 

A dreamy languor had spread over her pale, lovely 
face, and in her gentle eyes glowed the secret fire of 
passion. Never had she appeared more beautiful to 
the count; never did he feel happier in the posses- 
sion of such a wife. He looked up to her as a being 
of superiority, and even her caprices, her weaknesses, 
only increased his love; for nothing touches and 
charms a strong man like the helplessness of a woman. 

The more the bond between them loosened, the 
farther removed he became from her, so much the more 
careless did she grow of his habits, so much the more 
patiently did she listen to his conversation, the prosi- 
ness of which almost distracted her. 

She even permitted him to smoke his cigar in her 
room without complaining of the headache. 

Her forbearance arose partly from indifference, but 
more from the consciousness of the wrong committed 
against her honorable husband. It seemed to her as 
if she must apologize to him for the injury done him; 

78 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAjj 


n 

as if she must recompense him b}^ a double measure 
of kindness and consideration. Like most women, too, 
she felt like clinging more closely to him, the more, 
she thought of leaving him forever. 

Her husband’s presence, the fear of his anger, the 
power of passion, the requirements of her soul, Norin’s 
prayers, fear for her lover, all formed an unbreakable 
chain which bound her fast. 

With wonderful rapidity she passed through all the 
phases of guilty love, from the first unnoticeable self- 
deception to the complete self-conscious lie. On the 
day following her husband’s return she received from 
the hands of a maid, who had been bribed, a letter from 
Norin, in which he begged more passionately than ever 
for a clandestine meeting. 

She hesitated to reply, to grant his request; but no 
other way remained to her, for she must advise him of 
the count’s presence. In her reply she represented to 
him the necessity of denial ; she besought him to spare 
her reputation, to turn aside the danger threatening 
him. 

As we have seen before, her letter had the opposite 
effect upon him. The count’s return only fanned the 
flame; the fear of losing her increased his passion, and 
the danger could not frighten him away. He urged 
her more warmly to trust him, to break all bonds and 
to be his forever. 

Although his words were alluring and seductive, 
although her love was so powerful, she shrank from 
that last, extreme step. 

She had no friend in whom she could confide, from 
whom she could obtain counsel and aid. So, left en- 
tirely to herself, she yielded to the force of fate. Once 
drawn into the whirlpool of passion, there was no es- 


8o 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


cape. After crossing the boundaries, she could not 
draw back. 

From that time forth her life was like that of the 
damned — without rest, without peace, without outward 
or inward security, a prey to her own conscience, to 
the horrible fear of detection. 

She was obliged to learn to control her features, her 
glances; to weigh every word, to force herself to be 
merry when she was sad, and to appear composed 
when she was agitated. 

A footstep startled her, the slightest whisper ren- 
dered her ill at ease; everything aroused iier suspicion, 
her anxiety, her fear. When the count sat by her 
side and spoke to her in his kindly tones, she feared 
she would betray herself; when he left her, she feared 
that the rumor of her guilt might reach his ears. 
Whenever the door-bell rang she was seized with a 
nervous tremor, as if she expected her accusers, her 
judges. 

Not less uneasy was she rendered by the demeanor 
of those around her, especially of the servants, all of | 
whom, with the exception of the maid, she suspected. I 
Old, faithful Frederick was the object of constant i 
dread, and a glance from him served to disconcert her. I 

Although he was always respectful to his mistress, 
she fancied she read silent reproach in his honest face; 
grave warning in his solemn manner. She avoided 
him as much as possible, and in secret she was vexed 
with him, though he, gave her no cause. 

She, too, was annoyed by the lies, the deception she 
was forced into. 

She had to invent pretexts for Norin’s visits which 
could not remain a secret from the count; she had to 
explain, to deceive, to lie, in order to allay his suspi- 
cions, to hide her guilt. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


8l 


Fearfully she awaited from day to day the dreaded 
disclosure, but the eyes of the count, like those of so 
many men in a similar situation, were blinded. Not- 
withstanding his former prejudice against the virtuoso 
he received the announcement of his visits, which 
Ada made in as indifferent a tone as possible, without 
the least suspicion. He saw in them simply a caprice 
of his wife’s, a pardonable desire to become better ac- 
quainted with the hero of the day, for she, he knew, 
loved music-above all else. 

The honorable man never dreamed that an illicit 
connection could exist between a Countess Harrer and 
a virtuoso; it would have been incredible, abkird. 

He made light of Ada’s artistic enthusiasm without 
noticing her confusion, her sudden blushes, and tremors, 
while she made an effort to appear gay and to force a 
smile in order to deceive him. 

“I am glad,” said the count, “that during my ab- 
sence you found diversion. Although I understand 
nothing about music, I hear that Norin is a kind of 
musical field-marshal on his instrument, and I have a 
great deal of respect for talent recognized by his 
majesty. Moreover, he is said to be a very amusing 
fellow, and to have better manners than artists gener- 
ally have, so that one can receive him with pleasure.” 

‘‘The first families prize his visits as an honor, ’’said 
Ada, with apparent composure. 

‘‘That is, in my opinion, an excess which I cannot 
comprehend. Those people must not be spoiled and 
they should be given to understand that they are looked 
upon as a diversion, but that otherwise we will have 
no nearer connection with them. Still, I need not tell 
you how to conduct yourself with regard to that Norin 
in order to preserve your dignity and to keep him in 
his proper place. ” 


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PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


Ada could no longer resist her husband’s wish to 
re-enter society; but it increased her anxiety, threat- 
ened her security. 

Ada’s reappearance was greeted with a certain atten- 
tion which, under other circumstances, would perhaps 
have flattered her vanity. She felt that in the drawing- 
room all eyes were fastened upon her, that all gazed 
at and talked about her. When she approached, the 
whispering ceased; biut the significant smiles of her 
friends betrayed to her that she was the object of ma- 
licious gossip. 

"My dearest countess,’’ cried the enthusiastic Leo- 
nore, "we have n*ot seen you for so long. 1 would gladly 
have called upon you, but they told me that you were 
ill and received no one. But to my delight I learned 
that your sufferings permitted you at least to make an 
exception in favor of your most intimate friends, among 
which I may not reckon myself.’’ 

"I was, indeed, very nervous,’’ murmured Ada, with 
evident embarrassment. 

"I am very sorry, but you m.ust be more careful and 
not study music so assiduously. I know of nothing 
that affects the nerves more than piano-playing, even 
when one is fortunate enough to listen to such a mas- 
ter as the famous Norin, as often as you can.’’ 

Her words sounded so sympathetic, and yet every 
word was like the stroke of a dagger; every apparently 
harmless phrase was calculated to pain and wound. 

The poor countess was without any weapons against 
those attacks, for she did not possess either the Duch- 
ess von Taland’s courage, bold enough to defy public 
opinion, nor the skill, or rather the malicious repartie 
which returns like with like. 

Ada felt the ground slipping from beneath her feet; 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


83 


but she could not avoid society without arousing com- 
ment, so she had to drain the bitter draught to the last 
drop, to hide her trouble beneath an artificial smile, 
and, like the dying gladiator, sink dying to the ground 
with a good grace. 

Count Harrer, too, was in a like manner judged. So- 
ciety shrugged its shoulders at his blindness, laughed 
in secret at his incomprehensible weakness, and mocked 
at his misfortune. . 

Notwithstanding his innocence, the colonel could 
not help noticing the attitude of the circle in which 
he moved, though he was far from suspecting the true 
cause. The secret poison began to work slowly and 
made him uneasy. Thoughts which formerly he had 
never known disturbed his mind; strange fears flitted 
like shadows through his brain. Occasionally his eyes 
rested searchingly upon Ada, as if trying to probe the 
depths of her heart, and sometimes, when with her, a 
sudden, swift suspicion flashed across his mind, which 
he at once rejected as unworthy. 

There were times when the once so happy, contented 
man brooded and meditated sorrowfully. Even his. 
usual occupation and duties did not satisfy him. 

Without acknowledging it, the count felt that his 
peace had been disturbed, his confidence shaken, al- 
though as yet he could see no grounds for jealousy. 


IV 


THE CRISIS 

In order to escape those burdensome thoughts, the 
count visited more frequently the so-called “Jockey 
Club,” where met the flower of the nobility and the 
gilded youth of the Residence. 

At their head stood the Prince von Schwarzfels 
while Baron von Gallen was vice-president. 

On that especial day the baron held it as his duty 
to protect the honor of the “Jockey Club” against an 
unheard of demand; nothing less than the introduction 
of Norin into that exclusive circle. 

The artist, who at that time was in the zenith of his 
fame, had been proposed by his friend, the Prince von 
Schwarzfels. So much the more did Baron Gallen feel 
called upon to resist, for between him and the prince 
there existed an easily explained antipath}^ and jeal- 
ousy. 

The romantic Leonore, too, who could not pardon 
the artist’s infidelity, had used her influence to prepare 
a defeat for him through her new admirer, and by that 
means to revenge herself on him and the still more 
heartily despised countess. 

The majority of the members of the club shared 
the vice-president’s views and expressed themselves 
more or less energetically against the admission of 
the virtuoso. 

“We must show the fellow,” said the baron, “that 

84 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


85 

there is a difference between a gentleman and a mere 
piano-pounder. ” 

"I cannot divine what the ladies see in him," said 
a dragoon with the form of a Hercules. 

"And I can see still less,” replied the vice-president, 
"how there can be men who will suffer such actions. 
If such a thing were to happen to fne, I would shoot 
the fellow like a mad dog." 

"Too much honor for a strolling musician,” replied 
the dragoon. "The whip for the impertinent fellow!" 

The conversation reached the ears of several older 
gentlemen who were seated at the card-table. 

Count Harrer, who was among the players, seemed 
to be rendered so uneasy by the conversation, that he, 
to his partner's vexation, made mistake after mistake. 

"My God!” cried General von Strunoki, who was 
sitting opposite him, "you are paying no attention.” 

"Pardon me,” replied the count, "but I do not feel 
well. If you will permit, we will cease playing. I am 
ready to give you your revenge to-morrow. ” 

"For my part!” grumbled the irritable general. "To- 
day you can surely do nothing ; until to-morrow then!” 

The players rose, and the colonel approached the 
group of young men who were protesting in such vio- 
lent and insulting words against the admission of the 
virtuoso. 

"About what,” he asked, with apparent unconcern, 
"are the gentlemen so greatly excited?” 

The men glanced at one another in confusion, with- 
out replying at once. 

There was an almost oppressive silence, for none of 
those men had the courage to acknowledge the truth 
to the deceived husband. 

"If I am not mistaken,” said he, after a pause, "you- 
were talking of the famous virtuoso, Norin.” 


S6 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


"We were," murmured Baron von Gallon. 

"And what have you against him?” 

"He wishes to join the club,” replied the baron 
evasively. 

"Prince von Schwarzfels proposed him.” 

"If that is all,” replied the colonel, "I see no rea- 
son why you should be so excited.” 

Again the gentlemen looked at one another in sur- 
prise, while the colonel seemed to await their reply. 

There was something so painful in the whole scene 
that even the frivolous members of the Jockey Club 
were struck by it. The stout captain pulled his black 
mustache in embarrassment, the young officers toyed 
with their sword-knots, while even the colonel frowned 
and looked in surprise at the circle. 

"It seems,” said he in an angry tone, "that there is 
some secret here. But I have a double right to your 
confidence, for I am one of the oldest members of the 
club and, moreover, that Norin visits me occasionally. 
If he has committed any wrong, I must know it. My 
honor requires a positive reply from you.” 

"We know nothing positive,” replied Baron Gallon, 
"but, were I in your place, colonel, I should not re- 
ceive such a person.” 

"Why not, if I may ask?” 

"Because, because,” stammered the baron, "his rep- 
utation in many ways is not of the best. A married 
man should be especially careful as to his relations 
with that fellow.” 

"Baron!” exclaimed the colonel, turning pale. "Your 
words contain an inference which I must beg you to 
explain. But this is no place for such an explana- 
tion. ” 

"I am certainly at your service/’ replied the baron 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


87 


with a bow. "You need only name the time and place." 

Thereupon the colonel left the Jockey Club besieged 
by the most conflicting emotions. He was filled with 
suspicion, but his love was so great that he would 
not condemn his wife unheard; she should, she must 
defend herself before him, and in his heart he hoped 
he would find her less guilty than he feared she was. 

Torn by doubt, by the fury 'of revenge, the colonel 
rushed to his house, where he was met by old Fred- 
erick with a serious face. 

"Where is my wife?" he asked the faithful servant 
hastily. 

"I do not know, the countess went out an hour ago." 

"Call her maid,” commanded the colonel, seized with 
a sudden suspicion. 

"She has disappeared and is nowhere to be found," 
replied the servant in a sorrowful, disconsolate voice. 

"What does that all mean?" asked the oolonel, with 
difficulty maintaining his composure. "I want to know 
what has happened. Why are you silent, why do you 
stare at me so strangely?" 

"Oh, sir!” stammered old Frederick. "Do not ask 
me, I cannot make up my mind to tell you what I, 
alas, have suspected for some time." 

"Do you wish to drive me mad? I command you to 
hide nothing from me." 

"I would rather have died, sir, than have stood be- 
fore you thus. I almost fear that the countess has 
flown with her maid, and will never return." 

As if felled by a blow, the colonel staggered, and 
sank into the nearest chair, covering his face with both 
hands. 

A terrible silence, which the servant dared not break, 
followed. After a long, painful pause, the unhappy 


88 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


man started up as if from a heavy, horrible dream ! 

“Man! What are you thinking of? You lie!" 

“I have never lied to you, sir! But I wish I had to- 
day. " 

“What did you say? My wife, the countess — ” 

He could not speak the words. His tongue seemed 
paralyzed, his throat contracted, his features were con- 
vulsed, and his pale face seemed aged. 

Gradually he succeeded in controlling himself to a 
certain degree. 

“Tell me what happened during my absence. The 
whole truth,” said the colonel, in a hollow voice. 

“Some time ago,” replied the old servant, trembling 
with emotion, “I began to suspect the maid, and also 
that all was not going just right in the house. The 
girl was saucy and took all sorts of liberties which I 
would not and could not stand. When I took her to 
task, she only grew more impertinent, and when I com- 
plained to the countess she took her maid’s part, and 
said I was in the wrong. That provoked me, and I 
secretly determined to watch her.” 

“And why did you tell me nothing of all this?” 

“Out of respect for my mistress, and because I did 
not wish to annoy you, sir, with m}^ unfounded sus- 
picions. Now, indeed, I see my mistake; I should cer- 
tainly have been wiser to have told you at once.” 

“Be quick! ” interrupted the colonel impatiently. 
“We have no time to lose.” 

“I watched, sir, and soon I thought I saw" that the 
maid was carrying secret letters from the countess to 
the strange musician, and vice vef'sa; but, although I 
tried to detect her in the act, the sly person evaded 
me, until one evening I followed her in order to meet 
her in the dark. Hidden behind a gate-way, by the 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


89 


light of the lanterns, I saw her talk for some time to 
a gentleman, and saw him give her a letter and money. 
Then I knew what I wanted to; hastily I preceded her 
home and waited at the door until she started for the 
countess’ room, in order to carry out her errand. I 
seized the letter in her hand without heeding her 
cries. ” 

"Have you the letter? Give it to me!" 

"Here it is, sir!" 

Hastily the colonel broke the seal and read — read 
the confirmation of his suspicions, the proof of her 
guilt, and the cold perspiration bathed his brow. 

"Very well,” said he to the servant with well-simu- 
lated composure. "Tell the coachman to harness the 
horses and drive around at once." 

"Yes, sir!" 

"And do not forget to load my pistols. I shall re- 
quire them." 

With a deep sigh the old servant disappeared to 
execute the count’s orders. 


V 


THE FLIGHT 

A few moments later the count’s carriage drew up at 
the virtuoso’s dwelling, to which Ada, with her maid, 
had fled. 

The news that old Frederick knew of her secret cor- 
respondence had robbed Ada of all presence of mind, 
and filled her with dread. She had no longer any will, 
and allowed her maid to rule her. The latter succeeded 
in evading the faithful servant, and in escaping un- 
noticed with the countess, before the colonel had re- 
turned from the "Jockey Club.” 

With the cry: "Save me! I am ruined!” Ada rushed 
into the arms of the surprised musician. More quick- 
ly and more unexpectedly than both had thought for, 
the dread catastrophe had come to pass, so that no 
time was left for reflection. 

While Norin still wavered, the avenger knocked at 
the door. With a terrified face Giuseppe rushed in; 
he had tried vainly to detain the count in the ante- 
chamber. 

"Her husband!” cried the horrified Italian. “Fly, 
or you are the child of death!” 

There was barely sufficient time for Ada, with her 
maid, to rush into the adjoining room, where, almost 
fainting, she sank upon the threshold wringing her 
hands. The next moment the colonel,, with a pale, un- 
forgiving face, stood before the am.azed virtuoso, 

90 











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■MiMi 


Sefore you enter^’’ lie cried, beside biiuself, ** you must kill me.^’ p« 91. 




PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


91 


"Where is my wife?" he demanded wildly. 

"The countess?" replied Norin, affecting surprise. 
"I really do not know — " , 

"Wretch! I know that she is concealed here. You 
cannot deny that you have deceived me. The proof 
of your guilt is in my hands." 

"You can kill me, you have the right to do that," 
said the musician, not without dignity. "I alone am 
guilty, if not in the measure in which you think, sir! 
I confess that I have abused your confidence; led on 
by my passion I deceived and injured you. You find 
me ready to make reparation. My blood, my life 
belong to you; more you dare not, and cannot demand." 

A scarcely audible sound, a deep sigh, a gentle 
moan, broke the stillness and betrayed the presence of 
the unhappy woman, who could hear every word from 
her hiding-place. Without giving the virtuoso any 
reply, the count approached the door, but, before he 
reached it, Norin threw himself in his way. 

"Before you enter," he cried, beside himself, "3^ou 
must kill me." 

"I will do so," said the count with icy compgsure, 
as he cocked his pistol without the musician making 
an effort to leave his place, standing ready to receive 
his opponent’s bullet, and to protect his beloved with 
his life. 

Mute and pale the two men faced one another, 
measuring each other with annihilating glances. 

The count aimed at his sacrifice, when the door sud- 
denly opened, and Ada, with a loud cry, threw herself 
between the bitter opponents, as she tried to protect 
her lover’s breast with her own body. At the sound 
of her voice, the colonel’s weapon was involuntarily 
lowered. 


92 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“Mercy, mercy!" she implored, clinging to the feet 
of the injured husband. 

He could not spurn her, for he loved her in spite 
of all her guilt, and deep compassion arose within his 
breast for the once so passionately loved woman, who 
lay at his feet so deeply humiliated. 

Perhaps he felt at that moment that he wa:s not 
entirely blameless; that his lack of penetration, the 
inequality in their ages, and the difference in their 
tastes, were less to be condemned than the weakness 
of the tempted woman. 

“Rise, countess,” said he, in a milder tone. “Do 
not fear that I shall stain my hands with your blood, 
although you have broken my heart. In vain have I 
asked myself what I have done to deserve such a fate. 
What excuse can you offer for your infidelity, your 
treason? Did I not try to fulfill your every wish, be- 
fore it was expressed by you? Have I not borne you 
in my hands, confided in you entirely, loved and 
cherished 3^ou as the apple of my eye?” 

“Ah!” murmured Ada, deeply moved. “You were 
always the best, the noblest of men.” 

“When I sued for your hand,” he continued, sadly, 
“I knew that our ages were unsuited, that j^our feel- 
ings took a different bend, that you made a sacrifice; 
but I hoped, by the depth of my affection, to bridge 
over that gulf and recompense you by redoubled love. 
I wanted to make you happy, and all my thoughts were 
concentrated upon that hope. Tell me, have I spoken 
the truth?” 

“You have done all that and far more,” she replied, 
with eyes cast down. 

"Yet," returned the colonel reproac^hfully, "you 
deceived me, deserted me, sullied my honor shame- 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


93 


fully. If I had no claim upon your love, if I could 
not inspire you with love for me, I thought at least to 
win your respect, to obtain your gratitude. " You knew 
that you bore my name, and you have made it the sub- 
ject of scorn for the world, and me the laughing stock 
of the town. I blindly trusted you, and you abused 
my confidence, robbed me of everything that is dear 
to a man on earth, poisoned my life, and made my 
existence unbearable." 

"Pardon, pardon!" stammered Ada, with tears of 
the bitterest regret. 

"May God in heaven forgive you, I cannot. As 
long as the brand burns, so long will the remembrance 
of your guilt gnaw at my heart. I might kill you, 
your life is in my hand, no court would sentence the 
wronged husband were he to exercise just revenge’ and 
punish the guilty wife with her seducer. But I do 
not wish to become your murderer; I shall leave you 
to the vengeance of heaven and the torture of your 
own conscience." 

"Enough, more than enough," thus the virtuoso 
interrupted the count’s angry speech. "Do not forget 
that you are addressing a defenseless woman; I alone 
deserve your reproaches, and am ready to give you any 
satisfaction you may demand.” 

"I know," replied the count, starting up, "what I 
owe to my honor, and you dare to remind me at this 
moment! I, too, doubt your courage as little as you 
doubt mine." 

"Very well, I am ready." 

"For heaven’s sake!" cried Ada, involuntarily 
throwing her arms about Norin in order to detain 
him. 

"No, no!” said the count with a bitter smile. "I 


94 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


shall not fight with him. Do not fear, countess, that 
I shall kill your lover.” 

"I think,” said the virtuoso, “that you do not con- 
sider me capable of giving you satisfaction, because I 
am of humble descent, because I am only a musician.” 

"That is not why I refuse you the wished-for satis- 
faction,” replied the count with icy composure. "I 
esteem every honorable man, although his birth and 
position does not equal mine; but important reasons 
urge me not to accept your challenge.” 

"May I know those reasons?” 

"First of all, I will fight with no — thief!" 

"Count!” exclaimed Norin. "You are taking advan- 
tage of my position to heap insult upon insult.” 

"And yet I do not retract a word. You entered my 
house worse than any thief and stole from me. Under 
the mask of friendship you crept into my home circle, 
sat at my table, drank of my wine, and in return 
robbed me of everything that w^as dear to me upon 
earth.” 

"I offer you my life in return." 

‘Can your blood restore to me my lost happiness, 
my peace? Can it renew the broken bond? Should I 
suffer any the less were I to kill you as you deserve? 
Do 3''ou think that a murder can clear my tarnished 
honor? You have no right to dispose of a life which 
no longer belongs to you. There stands the woman 
to whom you owe your every breath, every pulsation 
of your heart. You are^no longer free to fight a duel 
with me, even if I were inclined to accept your offer.” 

- "Pray have done, count!” 

"Perhaps I should have done better to have killed 
you as I first intended, but a, to me, incomprehensible 
weakness, the image of the countess, prevented me 


Prince and musician 


95 


from taking my just revenge, which perhaps every 
other man in my position would have done. A duel, 
such as you propose, I do not look upon, under the 
given circumstances, as possible; although that is the 
usual consequence in such cases. I scor^n the opinion 
of the world, which thinks everything settled by the 
exchange of bullets. Such satisfaction would not 
suffice for me; for you it would be an honor, a triumph, 
even if my bullet should not miss you. I give you 
your life, which I still have in my hand, under one 
condition. ” 

“Name it, count!” 

“It is that you and the countess should leave the 
Residence to-day and never return. I myself will take 
the necessary steps to obtain our divorce as quietly as 
possible, without arousing suspicion. You are free, 
madame, to follow your inclinations.” 

Deeply moved, Ada covered her face with both 
hands, murmuring unintelligible words which sounded 
like thanks for such unexpected magnanimit}’. 

“Do not thank me,” saidr the count. “Sooner or 
later the punishment will be awarded you, which no 
guilty person can escape. Perhaps the day is not far 
distant when you will think with bitter regret of the 
past, and will remember the man who once loved 
you more than you ever dreamed of. But you,” he 
continued, turning toward Norin, “assume from this 
day a heavy responsibility. Do not forget that from 
the instant you entered into my rights you assumed 
my duties toward this woman. At the death-bed of 
my best friend, who was at the same time Ada’s father, 
I swore solemnly to protect his daughter, to guard her 
in all situations, to watch over her, to compassionate 
her weakness; in a word, to take the place of her 


96 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


father. To that circumstance alone do you owe it, 
that I now spare your life. But woe to you, if you, 
as I fear, should ever prove unworthy of that charge; 
if you ever should reward with ingratitude the sacri- 
fice which at this moment I am making to the memory 
of my friend. " 

“You have no right to doubt my love.” 

“I do not doubt your love, but the stabilit)' of your 
character. I know that at present you believe you 
love the countess, that you are ready to defend her 
with your life; but will you in years feel as you do to- 
day? Are you sure of your love, and do you possess the 
moral strength to resist new temptations?” 

“Oh! I swear to you, count — " 

“Do not swear, for I do not consider you capable 
of maintaining your oath. But if what I anticipate 
should ever come to pass, revenge will not be lacking; 
then I shall be no longer bound; then, as at this mo- 
ment, your life will belong to me. I shall follow you 
whithersoever you may go; I will accompan}' you like 
your shadow, and no power on earth will protect you 
from my arm. Then only will I complete the punish- 
ment which now I forego, out of pity for that woman 
whom I once loved, out of respect for her father; and 
I promise you that my bullet shall not miss you a 
second time. You, madame, I bid farewell, with the 
request that you will forget me, as I shall try to for- 
get you.” 

With painful agitation, Ada tottered toward the 
count, who, however, did not seem to perceive the 
hand held toward him. Only then did she recognize 
the worth of the man whom formerly she had under- 
stood as little as he understood her. That terrible 
hour was necessary to show her the nobility of his 
character and his mind. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


97 


Sorrow and shame had raised him above himself, so 
that he, indeed, filled her with admiration. Like a 
noble statue from which the veil had suddenly fallen, 
he stood erect before the unhappy woman and her 
guilty lover. 

With a bow, without deigning to glance at her 
again, he passed her by. 

Several hours later a carriage drove through the 
Residence gates; in it sat Norin and the weeping Ada. 

The injured husband’s vengeance followed them in- 
visibly in the darkness of the night. 


VI 


THE NEW MASTERPIECE 

Soon iNorin and Ada reached their destination, and 
found a quiet nook on the romantic shores of Lake 
Geneva. 

Among clinging vines, broad-leaved fig-trees, and 
sweet-scented walnuts, nestled the tiny villa which was 
to conceal the loving pair for a long time from the 
eyes of the world. 

After the stormy scenes through which they had 
passed, both felt the need of rest and solitude. 

Notwithstanding the diversion which their journey 
afforded, Ada could not drown the consciousness of her 
guilt, could not still her gnawing remorse, which by 
her injured husband’s magnanimous conduct had been 
greatly increased. 

Even Norin’s tender affection, his repeated assur- 
ances, were not sufficient to assuage her grief, to dry 
her tears and to comfort her agitated heart. The re- 
membrance of that terrible scene, the reproaches of 
her conscience, her dread of an uncertain future, hovered 
over her, and followed her like the dark shadows of 
avenging spirits. 

Norin, too, was in no way satisfied with the conse- 
quences of his last adventure, although his love for 
the charming woman seemed to increase daily, although 
she realized all his artistic ideals, his dreams of unat- 
tainable happiness; yet with his feelings, too, was 

98 


Prince and musician 


99 


mingled a bitter drop, if not a sentiment for remosre, 
at the humiliation against which his manly pride re- 
belled. 

Amid such magnificent scenery, far from the mad- 
ding crowd, from the poisonous atmosphere of society, 
they began to sympathize wdth and understand one 
another better. 

Far from the flattery and admiration of the world, 
Norin again became an artist. A higher aim hovered 
before his eyes; the desire to make his name worthy 
to rank with the great masters of the past by some 
perfect creation. 

Earnestly he threw himself into the work, during 
which his keen intelligence could not fail to discover 
the faults in modern music, especially operatic, the 
prosaic insipidity of the acts, the frivolity of the ordi- 
nary composers, the prominence given to melody which 
spoiled all dramatic truth. 

He recognized all those defects and wished to avoid 
them in his own works. His idea was entirely new; it 
was the combination of drama with opera, a blending 
of both in a higher unity in which poetry and music, 
the sister arts, should mutually aid one another and 
form a new work of art. 

Ada was deeply interested in Norin^s thoughts, and 
as she, with feminine quickness, drank in his ideas, and 
by her applause, her suggestions, helped to develop 
the end into the golden fruits with time, Norin felt 
surer of his object. 

“Music,” said Norin one evening, “is a woman, her 
nature love, her highest ornament innocence; but, as 
there is rarely a woman who answers to the ideal, so 
do we rarely find art in perfection. In the Italian 
opera, we find her a voluptuous woman, robbed of 
every deeper feeling, filled only with sensuality. 


100 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


"On the other hand, French music is a frivolous 
coquette, she wishes only to be admired and not loved, 
she seeks only the gratification of her vanity, and her 
heart remains empty. Her cheeks are painted, her 
smile is affected. ” 

"But," replied Ada, "you will acknowledge the worth 
of the German opera." 

"Not the opera of the present day. With a few 
exceptions, the majority of our German operas of the 
day might be compared with a pious bigot who, instead 
of a heart, carries an old prayer-book in her withered 
bosom, and forces her soul into a moral bodice. The 
coquette at least forgets herself occasionally, and is 
caught in her own snares, but the prudent bigot never 
cherishes a spark of the warm, divine fire in her 
bosom. She is the Pharisee among women, who 
strikes her empty breast with hypocritical indignation . 
and says: I thank thee. Lord, that I am not like this 
one! " 

"You judge severely but not unjustly, for I can . 
recall the ennui already occasioned me by several new * 
composers. But how should woman, or rather true art, j 
appear?" 1 

"As a woman who really loves, who sacrifices her- i 
self without reserve, who desires nothing but to die j 
in the arms of genius like Semele. The husband of j 
that pure woman is the poet; from that combination 
of music and poetry, of womanly grace and manly 
strength, arises the true work of art." 

"And do you hope to attain that grand aim?" 

"At least I feel inclined to do so, and daily the 
ways and means grow clearer to me, although I do not 
know if my strength will hold out. How many have 
failed. I too may be led astray by a will-o’-the-wisp." 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


lOI 


"But words are inadequate to express the overpower- 
ing feelings which possess one at the supreme 
moment; the mind is crippled, the imagination power- 
less, and at the moment of inspiration the lips are 
silent. The poet requires help, and he finds it in 
Music, in her harmony, her melody, which alone can, 
in her heavenly language, express the greatest joy and 
the deepest sorrow. In her kiss of love lie recognizes 
the great mystery; from that warm embrace arises the 
true savior, from that the highest and best work of 
art is born!" 

"And you will create it!" exclaimed Ada, intoxi- 
cated with love and enthusiasm, sinking into his open 


arms. 


VII 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 

Now on foot, now in a light skiff upon the waters 
of the lake, Ada, by Norin’s side, enjoyed the happi- 
ness never known to her before, of living with a be- 
loved one far from the world, in a spot where nature 
and art, thought and mind, melted into one blissful 
harmony. 

Their excursions became pilgrimages, indeed, to the 
sacred spots where before them had trodden the foot 
of genius. One of their first visits was paid to roman- 
tic Chillon, whose white walls rose like a swan from 
the waves. 

Byron’s muse, which sang in one of his finest poems, 
"The Prisoner of Chillon,” the melancholy charm of 
the old building, the magnificent view of the Alps, 
enchanted the lovers like a magical potion. 

In such a mood they entered the boat which awaited 
them to take them to their villa. The setting sun 
gilded the shores of the lake; rosy clouds, like angels’ 
heads, floated on the sky, and the blue waters turned 
to a purple sea. Hand in hand the lovers sat in the 
skiff, which glided over the waves, and at every turn 
showed them new beauties. 

Their hearts were so full that they could find no 
words, and could only express their feelings by glances. 

"Of what are you. thinking?" asked Ada, at length, 
breaking the silence. 


102 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


103 


"I am not thinking, I am dreaming of you, of our 
love. " 

“No dream can be as delightful as reality. Now 
only do I know what life is; to love and to enjoy.” 

“To love and to create; both powers are one, the 
common emanation of divinity. As I love, I compose 
the finest poem, a work of art tor which our love 
furnishes me with material. As 1 gaze upon you, with 
your soulful eyes, at your lovely features, you seem to 
me as" my embodied muse, I find in you and in our 
love the long-sought-for ideal.” 

“You will make me vain,” replied she, with a blush, 
“although I should be delighted if my love could stim- 
ulate you.” 

“Oh!” cried Norin, with glowing eyes, “you do not 
know what a charm surrounds you at this moment. 
As I see you seated by my side, lighted up by the 
golden sunshine, your fair hair resembling an aureole, 
your eyes beaming with tenderness, your slender form 
encircled by my arm, leaning upon my breast, forget- 
ting the world, giving yourself up entirely to love, 
you seem to me like the image of some poet of olden 
times; your eyes, your smile, our passion, the blue 
lake at our feet, the skiff which bears us along, all 
remind me of the pretty tradition of ‘Tristan and 
Isolde,’ and you furnish me with the best, the richest 
material for a new creation.” 

“I am not familiar with the tradition,” replied Ada, 
with a smile, “so I cannot see the resemblance.” 

He told her the story of Tristan and Isolde that she 
might the better grasp his meaning. 

When he had concluded, Ada murmured: 

“Wonderful! The demoniacal power could not have 
been more forcibly portrayed. He who once tastes the 
intoxicating love-potion is lost,” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


104 

“That was Tristan’s and pretty Isolde’s fate. Both 
tried to conquer their love, but it mocked at all re- 
straint. . No power on earth could keep them apart. 
In Isolde’s arms the noble Tristan forgot his duty and 
his gratitude to the kindly king, his generous uncle.” 

“And the wife the fidelity she owed her noble hus- 
band,” replied Ada, with a deep sigh. 

"Intoxicated by the potion, they forgot the entire 
world, and even King Marke could not, when he dis- 
covered their guilt, kill them; he merely exiled' them 
from his court. They wandered in the wilderness, 
until they found a cave in which they took shelter.-” 

“And how does the story of Tristan and Isolde end?” 

“It has no end,” replied Norin evasively, “anymore 
than had their love, which continued even in the grave.” 

When Norin ceased speaking, tears glistened in 
Ada’s eyes. It seemed to her as if she had heard the 
story of her own life. 


VIII 


UNPLEASANT MEETINGS 

That conversation left a slight sadness, a scarcely 
noticeable dissonance in Ada’s sensitive mind, though 
that uneasiness soon yielded to Norin’s tenderness. 

He himself was in a state of most blissful agitation, 
caused by the discovery of the long-sought-for mate- 
rial, and without any hesitation he enthusiastically 
entered into his work. With wonderful ease he traced 
out the plan for the musical drama, by means of which 
he hoped to establish a new epoch in art. Scene for 
scene, act for act, was considered with Ada. 

The happiest time of their love had arrived for both 
of them, as they were united by a common interest in 
that great undertaking. 

By a constant interchange of thought they were 
drawn nearer one another, they grew daily more valu- 
able, more indispensable one to the other. What the 
artist composed during the day, he read or played to 
Ada in the evening with his usual mastery and finish. 
Her clear judgment, unbiased by love, was his high- 
est reward for his pains, and inspired him to new cre- 
ations, while the insight which he accorded her into 
the secret nooks of his artistic mind, filled her with 
bliss and permitted her spiritual eyes to perceive the 
most delightful ideals. 

When he composed, she generally sat by his side, 
for her mere vicinity, as he maintained, exercised an 

105 


Io6 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

inspiring influence over his work, her presence pre- 
sented to him the heroine of his drama, beautiful 
Isolde, and excited his imagination by such a decep- 
tion. 

In order to complete the illusion, Ada, though not 
without a protest, yielded to his urgent and repeated 
request, and donned the old-German gown of blue 
velvet with costly embroidery, belted in by a pearl 
girdle, loosened her long, fair hair, which fell to her 
slender hips in* waves, so that she really resembled 
the king’s lovely child in the poetical tradition. 

In that strange dress she seemed to herself bewitched, 
and her life at that time like a fairy-tale, a fantastic, 
blissful dream, from which she feared to awaken sud- 
denly. In the midst of the enjoyment of the moment, 
involuntarily there crept over her a feeling of inse- 
curity — as if over night the charm might vanish, as if 
some unforeseen storm must sever the light bonds of 
her happiness. 

More than ever did she dread any contact with the 
outer world, which, however, could not be altogether 
avoided, for the presence of the celebrated artist and 
his 'secluded retreat could not long be kept secret. 

With the pleasant season of the year came swarms of 
tourists, from all lands, to enjoy the beauties of Swit- 
zerland. 

As much as possible the lovers tried to escape the 
curious glances of those people; still they could not 
avoid them altogether, unless they gave up their excur- 
sions entirely. 

One of their favorite haunts was Clarens, rendered 
doubly dear to them by their remembrance of Rous- 
seau and his “new H^loise. ” 

“To Clarens,”* said Norin one day, after having 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


107 


worked steadily for several hours upon his new drama. 

Arm in arm they left their dwelling and wandered 
between budding chestnuts and fragrant nut-trees 
through the valley, where every step reminded them of 
the poet and of the creations of his mind, of Julie’s 
love, and of the struggles of noble Saint-Preux, with 
whom they sympathized more than ever. 

As the lovers submitted to the influence of nature 
and of mind, and there forgot the entire world, fate, or 
the irony of fate, was preparing to bring about a meet- 
ing as unexpected as unpleasant for them. 

Toward Clarens came a party of tourists, at whose 
head rode the romantic Leonore; behind her was her 
husband Baron von Gallsn and the poetical counselor 
of the embassy, the faithful cicisbeo of the lady, who 
wished to spend her honeymoon in Switzerland and 
Italy, or, as she expressed herself, in the land of 
glaciers and of Hesperides. 

The wo.rthy vice-president of the Jockey Club, how- 
ever, did not seem to be very much enchanted with 
that romantic pilgrimage, and his rosy, healthy face 
betrayed a certain ill-humor at that aimless wandering 
among the mountains, at the exorbitant hotel bills, 
the demands of the guides, foggy views, tiresome 
parties at which were served tough chamois-roasts, and 
sour wine at enormous prices. 

The most tiresome thing which struck him, how- 
ever, was the constant enthusiasm of his young wife, 
who, at every tree, before every cottage, burst into 
extravagant exclamations, and who pouted if he did 
not share her delight and did not agree with her in 
her admiration of every rock, every cascade. 

“Dear Gallen,’’ said his wife, “have you nothing to 
say of all these beauties of nature; has even magnifi- 
cent Clarens left you indifferent?” 


io8 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“I really do not know," replied he irritably, "what 
there is to be found here.” 

"Are you not reminded of Rousseau’s H^loise at 
the sight of these fields?” she asked, in a languishing 
tone. 

"I remember having read the old story in my Bae- 
decker, ” growled the baron, "but the forest in which 
the two lovers used to*stroll, is no longer to be seen. 
The guide-book says that the owner had the timber 
cut down and sold it.” 

"Oh, the barbarian!” cried Leonore, indignantly. 

"Probably they needed either the wood or the money, 
one cannot blame them.” 

"What? You excuse those unfeeling people, who 
destroyed, from sheer self-interest, the sacred grove 
which shaded the lovers?” 

“I do not care if they only left enough wood for us 
to cook a decent dinner with. I have a ravenous appe- 
tite. ” 

"Oh, my God, how prosaic!” sighed • the romantic 
Leonore. "How can anyone think of such a common 
thing as the stomach at Clarens?” 

"I believe that Julie did not live upon air alone, 
therefore I propose that without any further delay we 
repair to the hotel.” 

"If I am not mistaken,” added the poetical counsel- 
or of the embassy^ "the tavern at Clarens bears the 
pretty name of ‘Julie’s Bower.’ We can therefore kill 
two birds with one stone; that is, dine, and drink to 
the memory of the charming Julie with a glass of 
champagne. ” 

That proposition met with general approval, and 
the entire company set out for the hotel, where the 
baron ordered a fine dinner. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN lOQ 

While it was being prepared, the young wife took 
up a newspaper lying on the table, in which she was 
soon deeply interested. A short notice which she 
chanced upon, excited her greatly. 

"Read that,” said she to the counselor, holding the 
paper toward him. 

"What is it?” asked the baron. 

“The celebrated Norin has, so the paper says, retired 
to a villa on Lake Geneva in order to complete a 
composition, which, it is prophesied, will be very 
successful, as he will take quite a new path in music. 
And Countess Harrer lives with him." 

‘‘What a terrible scandal!” cried Leonore. "Who 
would have believed that the little woman would have 
trodden under foot all the laws of propriet}^ and of 
morality?” 

‘‘I cannot understand how it was that the count,” 
replied the baron, “did not kill him. If such a thing 
should happen to me — ” 

“My dear Gallen! How can anyone rnake such a 

mark in the presence of a respectable woman." 

“In such a case I would stand no joking,” replied 
the baron, contrary to his usual phlegmatic manner. 
“I can stand a great deal, but when my honor is 
touched, I have no regard for anything. I would 
have settled that musician forever, so that all pleasure 
in his work would have disappeared.” 

“He does not seem to me as much to be blamed as 
the countess, who .could forget herself so far. Were I 
to meet her accidentally, I should not recognize her? 
in spite of my former friendship for her.” 

“And I should treat that man with the most supreme 
contempt, were I to meet him.” 

With these heroic resolutions they were about to 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


ii6 

take their seats at the table, when through the open 
door Norin entered, accompanied by Ada, in order to 
rest from their fatiguing walk. 

The meeting, as unexpected as unwelcome, which ^ 

could not be avoided, caused great embarrassment, < 

which momentarily increased. .j 

While romantic Leonore tried to appear as indiffer- j 

ent as possible, her heaving bosom, her glances filled | 

with hatred, her mocking smile, betrayed a deep agita- 1 

tiqn at the sight of the, to her, once so dear virtuoso. ; 

On the other hand, upon Ada’s pretty face was an ; 

expression of painful emotion and doubt; in her soft | 

eyes, on her pale face, were reflected all the conflict- ! 

ing feelings by which her heart at that moment was : 

involuntarily besieged. With hands upraised, and a j 

humble inclination, she seemed to beg for mercy. 

So haughtily did Norin meet the baron’s searching • 
glances that the latter did not know just what to do to 
bring about the desired quarrel, until the clever 
counselor came to his aid, and whispered to him a 
thought for which the worthy vice-president had 
racked his brain in vain. ' 

“Carry our plates into the garden!" he said, in a ' 
loud, majestic voice to the astonished waiter. 

At the same time, with a gesture intended to be 
heroic, but which would have struck the disinterested 
bystander as ludicrous, he offered his wife his arm and 
noisily left the room, followed by the counselor and 
cicisbeo. 

“The fool!” said the artist, shrugging his shoulders. 

“He can insult us no more than that absurdly vulgar 
woriian and that weathercock of a diplornatist. " 

“And yet those people represent public opinion,” 
said Ada, sadly, restraining her tears with difficulty. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN ilf 

“I did not think you so weak, I thought you had 
more self-possession,” whispered Norin, wdth a frown. 
‘‘Remember that we are not alone, that the other 
guests and the waiters are watching us.” 

Notwithstanding, Ada could not overcome her sad- 
ness, and even Norin felt more deeply wounded by 
the scene which had just taken place, than he would 
have acknowledged. 

Sorrowfully they proceeded on their way homeward. 
Norin’s efforts to make light of the matter, proved 
insufficient to banish Ada’s melancholy, and he finally 
grew impatient, and for the first time reproached her 
for her nervous irritability, her capriciousness, by 
which, naturally, matters were made worse, and her 
tears flowed still more copiously. 

So the beautiful day and the pleasant walk to 
Clarens ended unhappily. 


IX 


THE RETURN TO SOCIETY 

After the event recorded in the preceding chapter, 
the lovers lived more retired than ever, and avoided 
still more carefully all contact with societ}^, in order 
not to bring about similar scenes. Ada soon felt 
happy again in the solitude of which she had grown so 
fond, while Norin, on the contrary, experienced a cer- 
tain unrest, which increased in proportion as his work, 
which occupied nearly all his time, drew to an end. 

The sympathy and applause of the woman whom he 
loved could not content him altogether, although he 
valued her opinion highly. He longed to hear the 
views of the connoisseurs, to show his work to the 
world, and, above all, to see it represented on the stage. 

Still he feared to express his thoughts, lest he might 
arouse Ada’s suspicions or wound her. He essayed to 
appear contented, happy, although for some time he 
had not felt so, for he was more interested in, more 
anxious about the fate of his drama, than he suffered 
her to divine. 

So, into their mutual relations, crept a certain fals- 
ity, while the artist tried to conceal his feelings and 
inclinations and to escape her watchful glances. Fre- 
quently he was surprised by a feeling of monotony, a 
yearning for diversion and greater excitement, against 
which neither his love nor the sight of nature could 
protect him 


113 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN ' II3 

Clandestinely, as if committing a crime, he renewed 
his former ties, wrote and received letters, communi- 
cated with his musical friends and admirers, with va- 
rious notables in the artistic world, and with influential 
patrons in whom he confided with regard to the prog- 
ress of his work. 

That news reaching the public through the news- 
papers, aroused general interest, once again called 
attention to the famous artist, and had the effect of 
spurring him on. 

So in art, or rather in the artist’s vanity, Ada found 
an invisible rival against which she struggled in vain, 
for daily the secret temptation grew more powerful, 
and it would onl}^ have required a trifling matter to 
separate him from his home, and to carry him back to 
the world. 

Nor was the tempter lacking, for the Italian, Giu- 
seppe Bertini, suddenly appeared unannounced at the 
villa in order to again connect the ties broken by the 
virtuoso’s flight. 

“He who seeks, finds,” said the sly impresario. 
“Pardon me, but I could not go by without seeing you 
again, dearest maestro, even at the risk of being in 
your way.” 

“You need not fear that; you are always welcome,” 
replied Norin, offering him his hand with a pleasant 
smile. “How have you fared since last we met?” 

“Now well, now not so well. One must stretch 
one’s self according to one’s cloth, and wait for what 
time will bring.” 

“What news have you brought me? How does the 
world look?” 

“Just the same as ever. The world is like a ladder: 
one mounts, the other descends. But that cannot in- 


114 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


terest you, for, as I hear, you have become a hermit.” 

"Notwithstanding that, I am deeply interested in my 
art." 

"The cat cannot let the mice alone, and we always 
return to .our first love.” 

"I have, in the meantime, not been idle, but have 
completed a new opera.” 

"I know, I know," replied the Italian. "All the pa- 
pers are full of it and the entire world is anxiously 
awaiting it. The reward will not be lacking." 

"Have they then not forgotten me, and do they still 
speak of me as they did formerly? ” 

"Yes, but it is high time that you should do some- 
thing. Out of sight, out of mind, and our fame melts 
like snow.” 

"What do you mean, Giuseppe?” asked Norin, anx- 
iously. "You seem to wish to keep something from 
me. " 

"As it is won, so it is lost. The world has a short 
memory and a long hand. Among the blind, the one- 
eyed man is kin^. When the mill is closed, the don- 
keys dance." 

"I beseech you, Giuseppe, to tell me plainly what 
you have in your mind.” 

"I will be as concise as you wish. In Paris, whence 
I came direct, a aew artist has appeared who will 
strive with you for the laurels if you do not take time 
by the forelock. He has learned your pieces well, for 
he is a sly devil, and does not care if he is only a 
copy of you. He is being worshiped just as you were^ 
and you are on. the road to being forgotten.” 

"For such a bungler, who has not one original 
thought. ” 

"The greater the rogue, the greater the luck. More- 


Prince and musician 


115 

over, he has the good fortune to be the natural son of 
a prince and diplomatist, who, of course, has intro- 
duced him to all his friends, who make much of him. 
The rich man has no lack of patrons." 

"That Thalheim cannot be dangerous to me. Were 
I merely to move my left hand, he would lie upon the 
ground. " 

"That is right. Show that you are still alive, and 
that you are the same man. The dead are soon for- 
gotten, and are always wrong. But you must lose no 
time. He who wishes to catch fish must rise early. 
To arms, dear maestro!” 

Involuntarily Norin sprang up and hastened to the 
piano, over the keys of which his hands swept as if he 
wished to prove that he need fear no rival. 

As he played the wily Italian exhibited the greatest 
sympathy; when he finished he cried: "Bravo, bravis- 
simo! That 1 call a masterpiece; that will make a fu- 
rore. You have surpassed 3 ’ourself. With such music 
you could awaken the dead and rescue souls from pur- 
gatory. ” 

"Do you really think so?” asked the flattered artist. 

"I do not doubt for a moment but that there will be 
a great success; but one must strike while the iron is 
hot. Nothing venture, nothing have.” 

"How can I manage it, for 1 am bound here?” 

"I understand. A woman and a trouble are always 
in the way. No rose without thorns; one can not have 
the sweet without the bitter. Love, too, has its trials; 
no fire without smoke.” 

"You will of course understand that I must take cer- 
tain precautions." 

"He who is too careful, spoils all. One stands prin- 
cipally in one’s own light, and every one is his own 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


ii6 

enemy. Well, I am agreeable; man’s will is his happi- 
ness. " 

“Did you then think it unavoidable that I should ap- 
pear in public? I have grown so fond of solitude.’’ 

“Every bird likes its nest, but everything has its 
time. You must not hide your light under a bushel, 
and of what use will your finest opera be to you if no 
one hears it? if you preach to deaf ears? He who 
changes his abode, changes' his luck.’’ 

“That is what I fear. Of course, I see the necessity 
myself, but I cannot decide to give up this quiet life 
and the countess will not be able to entertain the 
thought, either.’’ 

“A too careful physician only aggravates the case. 
You can not remain forever in these mountains, and 
bury yourself alive. Will you look calmly on while 
someone else is stealing away your fame, and lay 
your hands idly in your lap while another rakes in the 
gold and the honors? You have only to raise a finger, 
and entire society will again lie at your feet; you have 
only to shake the tree, and the golden fruit will fall 
in your lap. The world belongs only to him who 
knows how to use it.’’ 

It scarcely required the sly agent’s eloquence, in or- 
der to convince the artist of the necessity of returning 
to the scene of his former activity. The mere thought 
that in his absence a (to him) dangerous rival was cele- 
brating triumphs, sufficed to reawaken his vanity, his 
ambition. 

But he thought more of the fate of his new opera, 
upon which he built such hopes. From personal ex- 
perience he knew only too well of the cabals and in- 
trigues which enemies and opponents spared no im- 
portant personage, and which he could only combat by 
his presence. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


II7 

Thus exterior and interior influences, combined with 
a deep love of art, drew Norin once more toward the 
dangerous vortex which he had scarcely left. Not- 
withstanding that, he hesitated, partly from weakness, 
partly from love for Ada, to decide finally, deferring 
his decision from day to day and still trying to con- 
ceal his purpose from her. But the presence of the 
suspicious agent, several allusions he made, and 
Norin’s evident excitement, filled her with fears and 
doubts which she could not explain. 

She only breathed freely when the disagreeable Ital- 
ian had gone, although the object of his visit remained 
a secret to her for some time. 

In the artist’s mind there was taking place a strug- 
gle between his love for Ada and love for his art; the 
peaceful happiness of the present and the alluring pict- 
ure of the future. It was not an easy matter for him 
to give up his quiet retreat, the magnificent scenery, 
the pure pleasures of a better life, in exchange for the 
seductions and temptations of society. 

More potent, however, than that thought, was the 
longing to see his masterpiece presented to the pub- 
lic, to see his plans realized. As long as he had worked 
at it, he had not thought of its presentation, of its 
success, of the voice of criticism, of the opinions of 
the public. 

But now that his work was completed, that longing 
for praise, for recognition, the hope of success and 
triumphs, was re-awakened. 

In his dreams it recurred to him, as if his child, the 
creature of his imagination, was beseeching him to 
free her, as if Tristan’s and Isolde’s shadows warned 
him of his guilt. 

To that mood was joined the (to him) so strange feel- 


Il8 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

ing of dependence; he was, in a measure, bound, 
robbed of his freedom. He could not, as formerly, fol- 
low every caprice, every fantastic fancy recklessly, 
for Ada’s presence laid a certain restraint upon him, 
although the bond of roses seemed light, although he 
could so easily spare her love. 

In the midst of his vacillation, he, and still more 
Ada, was surprised by a visit from the Duchess von 
Taland and her inseparable companion. Prince Egon 
von Schwarzfels. On her way to Geneva, where her 
only, tenderly loved daughter was being educated, in 
a select English pension, the duchess looked upon it 
as her duty to visit the countess, who was related to 
her, and the virtuoso whom she esteemed, heedless of 
the prejudices of the world for which she cared 
nothing. 

Under the circumstances the meeting was very pain- 
ful to Ada, but the mere presence of the couple de- 
lighted the artist, who gave himself up freely to the 
pleasure of which he had been deprived for so long. 
The short time was spent in animated conversation, 
in improvising from his new opera, which charmed his 
hearers and filled them with the greatest admiration. 

The duchess was especially interested in the mu- 
sical reforms proposed by Norin. Like most women 
she was ready for a new thought and easy to fill with 
enthusiasm, while the prince was equally delighted. 

Both of them strengthened the artist in his resolution 
by their warm approbation and put an end to his in- 
decision by offering him their aid in order to assure 
the representation and success of his opera. At the 
same time the duchess understood the difficult task of 
overcoming Ada’s expected opposition by representing 
to her the necessity of such a sacrifice. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN I IQ 

Reluctantly did Ada finally consent to leave the 
peaceful retreat to return to the world which she hated 
and which filled her with dire forebodings. But her 
love for the artist^ the duchess’ convincing arguments, 
the fear of appearing selfish in the eyes of her love, 
but above all the desire to see him happy, overcame 
all her opposition, so that at length she made the sac- 
rifice, though with an aching heart. 

Several weeks after the departure of their titled 
friends, the lovers, too, left their pretty villa on Lake 
Geneva to repair to the court of Grand Duchess Alex- 
andrine, who, at the request of the duchess, appointed 
Norin “general musical director” and entrusted to him 
the leadership and production of her operas and the 
court concerts. 




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I 


A MARTYR TO TRUTH 

In a retired street of the Residence lived the famous 
Doctor Steiner, in the third story of a modest house, 
with a view of the neighboring roofs and chimneys. 
Notwithstanding that restriction, the young student’s 
study made a pleasant almost cozy impression. 

Along the walls ran the valuable library, his only 
treasure, to increase which he avoided no sacrifice. 

The brighter arts were not excluded. For there was 
the piano, and beside it the music stand, upon which 
lay Mozart’s and Beethoven’s symphonies, together 
with the best creations of Bach, Gluck, Handel and 
Haydn. 

At the window stood the more convenient than ele- 
gant work-table, covered with manuscript, periodicals, 
and the latest productions of the book-market. Above 
these, stood, upon a console, a bust of Lessing, his great 
model, at the sight of whom Steiner strengthened him- 
self in his struggle after light and truth. 

He himself sat in an old, threadbare arm-chair, and 
wrote; but his thoughts that day for the first time 
wandered from his work to the pretty stranger whom, 
since that meeting at the Academy of Music, he could 
not forget. 

H is retired life, hitherto, had rendered the impres- 
sion left by her strange appearance more powerful. Up 
to that time the young savant had led the life of a re- 

1?3 


124 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


cluse, a life dedicated to culture. Only during the 
past few days had he learned that the heart had claims 
as well. 

He was the hero of thought, a striver and a martyr 
to knowledge — the son of a poor country clergyman. 
At his father’s desire he had chosen the study of theol- 
ogy, and by his industry and zeal had become so prom- 
inent at the university that he aroused the attention 
and hopes of his teachers, who saw in him a new 
church-light. 

But soon his own convictions proved to him that the 
pious belief of his youth was his belief no longer. Too 
frank and open to deceive, he renounced the sacred 
calling, to his parents’ sorrow, and gave himself up to 
the study of philosophy. 

The outcome of all his study was the production of 
a book under the title of “Christ and the Church.” 

For years no book had attained such success. 
Although counting in no way upon the favor of the 
majority, of the people, it contained a clearness and 
pleasing style of representation seldom found in the 
works of German scholars. 

So it became a success — the talk of the day, the sub- 
ject of conversation among all educated men. 

So much the greater became, therefore, the hatred 
and envy of his enemies, and especially of the theolo- 
gists attacked by him. While all liberal organs ac- 
corded the scholar the greatest praise, the church re- 
views raised a cry of horror at the sacrilegist. 

Friends and enemies struggled with much bitter- 
ness; in the course of a few weeks a flood of pamph- 
lets containing enthusiastic articles and violent attacks 
appeared, and helped to make the author’s name pop- 
ular. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


125 


The excitement afforded the government an oppor- 
tunity to take the long-sought-for action against the 
young man. They prohibited the dangerous book with- 
out being able to prevent its spread and influence. 

But Steiner was forced to retire from the univer- 
sity and to give up his academical career, which was 
a great trial to him. 

He was deeply affected by the sorrow he had invol- 
untarily prepared for his parents; his angry father 
threatened to disinherit him unless he retracted his 
opinions. Then followed a struggle between his feel- 
ings and his duty. 

What was the applause of the people to him com- 
pared with his domestic ties? It could not replace lost 
love. At the height of his fame, in the full enjo}^- 
ment of his popularit}^ he felt lonely, forsaken and un- 
happy, because those nearest and dearest to him did 
not understand him and denied him. 

And yet he could not, dared not turn back, dared 
not recall his own work, which was as the Truth to 
him. 

He answered his parents’ letter affectionately. He 
tried to justify himself by citing such men as Luther. 
But all in vain! He received no reply and his father’s 
door was closed against him. 

Expelled from the university, rejected by his family, 
all that remained to him was to follow a literary career. 

Under his guidance the newspaper of the liberal 
party, which appeared under the title of “The German 
Thought,” proved a great and unexpected success. 

In proportion as the organ’s influence increased, the 
number of his adversaries increased also. 

Every hour brought him new trials which wounded 
him deeper, and tried his patience more sorely, in the 


126 


PRINCE AND. MUSICIAN 


form of secret thrusts than open defiance would have 
done. 

The government then interfered, and it seemed as if 
its object was to ruin Steiner. 

But he would not be daunted ; he patiently remained 
at his difficult post, constantly warring with his power- 
ful adversaries. His convictions were unshaken, but 
he felt alone and forsaken; he longed for a heart in 
which he could confide, which would understand him, 
and which, when he showed signs of succumbing, 
would inspire him. 

Never had he felt his loneliness so much as since 
the moment he had seen and known that mysterious 
stranger. An odd unrest, quite foreign to him, pos- 
sessed him; his usual occupation wearied him, and he 
could not think as freely. He was absent-minded and 
irritable without knowing the cause. 

Occasionally he found himself wishing that he might 
once again meet the charming stranger, but she seemed 
to have disappeared like something supernatural, with- 
out leaving any trace behind. 

Yet he could not forget her. 


THE ANONYMOUS POET 


It was already dark when the scholar had finished 
his work, and sent it to the printer’s, without experi- 
encing that feeling of satisfaction which he usually en- 
joyed when a work was completed. 

He lighted a lamp and took a book from the pile of 
new ones lying before him awaiting his criticism. 

Usually the task was not a very pleasant one, and 
he was surprised to see upon the first page a thought 
which by its depth and originality attracted him. The 
poem which he had accidentally lighted upon, bore 
the title of “Magdalena," and depicted the struggles, 
the sufferings, the errors of a woman’s soul. 

There was something intoxicating about the work, a 
seductive power, which he could not escape. As he 
read, his heart throbbed faster, he grew feverishly ex- 
cited. 

Only a woman could have expressed such feelings 
thus. He longed to know the author who had been too 
modest to write her or his name upon the title page. 

Quite filled with enthusiasm over the poem he had 
just read, the 3^oung savant wrote his criticism, wTich 
appeared in his journal, and aroused unusual comment. 
The voice of Steiner sufficed to awaken ihe highest 
interest in the book; so much the more because Steiner, 
on account of his strong non-party feeling and con- 
scientiousness, was esteemed in restricted circles. 

127 


128 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


In addition to that there was the charm of mystery 
which surrounded the poet. Everyone was trying to 
solve the interesting problem in vain. 

The young savant was in a strange mood, and he 
sought and found consolation, if not exactly in the 
wished-for measure, in his intercourse with the intel- 
lectual wife of his university friend, Eichler, who was 
a very eminent physician. 

Julie’s amiability soothed him and he gladly repaired 
to her home after his tiresome daily tasks were ended. 
In her he found that tender sympathy, that wonder- 
ful comprehension of his secret sorrows, which seems 
born in most women and seems to be based upon in- 
stinctive sympathy. 

Without questioning him, she divined the cause of 
his sadness. 

So it happened that he preferred her society to that 
of any other, and often visited his friend’s house. Both 
husband and wife knew how to make life pleasant for 
themselves and for others, and collected about them a 
circle of interesting men and women who felt at home 
in those hospitable rooms, and always were glad to 
return. 

Usually, once a week, on a certain evening, their 
friends assembled around their tea-table for a bright 
and interesting conversation which embraced the sub- 
jects of literature, art and politics. 

There Steiner found the required recreation and di- 
version after his work. 

Like the majority of her sex, Julie, happy herself, 
wished to make her friends happy as well. Her only 
weak point, at which her husband in his humorous way 
scoffed, was a constant striving to bring about mar- 
riages. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


I2g 

“You must marry,” was her refrain. ‘‘I will choose 
a suitable wife for you.” 

Half in jest, half in earnest, Steiner protested against 
her ©fforts for his future. 

In his present mood he was less inclined than ever 
to coincide with her ideas, and he had felt it incumbent 
upon him to make his visits somewhat less frequent 
of late, especially on her reception evenings, when she 
was, as a rule, surrounded by a host of more or less 
commendable candidates. 

Only her repeated and urgent invitations brought 
him again to Julie’s house, where he was received by 
her with her usual cordiality. 

“That is right,” said Julie, offering him her hand, 
“I should really be angry with you for remaining away 
so long; but you belong to those people with whom 
one can not be seriously vexed, and although you do 
not deserve any kindness, I have prepared a pleasant 
surprise for you. ” 

”A surprise?” asked Steiner, in astonishment. “May 
I ask what it is?” 

‘ That is my secret,” said Julie, playfully. 

“You really arouse my curiosity. 

"Guess, and I will tell you if you are right.” 

"I am not very good at guessing.” 

“Try, perhaps you will be successful.” 

“Of course there is a lady in the question,” said 
Steiner with comical irritation. 

“You are indeed a veritable CEdipus, who solved 
the problem of the sphinx.” 

“With you it was not very difficult for I know only 
too well your weak point.” 

“How ungallant! As your punishment you shall find 
out nothing from me.” 


130 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

“And you are dying to tell your secret, just like the 
children when a Christmas-tree is at the door." 

“You shall see that I can keep a secret better than 
some men. “ 

So the doctor’s wife changed the subject, inquired 
about his work and spoke of his fine criticism of the 
poem “Magdalena." 

“I must confess,” said Julie, “that for a long time 
no book has interested and charmed me as much as 
that excellent poem of which you seem to have so high 
an opinion. I could not sleep all night after I read it. 
The glow of passion, the enchanting language, excited 
me! Only a true poet could exercise such a power over 
the mind, could touch us so deeply and fascinate us so 
irresistibly. Involuntarily arises the desire to learn to 
know him, and to know more about him. 

“Although I share that wish,” replied Steiner, “I 
have given up all hope of seeing it fulfilled, for the 
author preserves the strictest secrecy as to his name." 

“So you have no suspicion either as to who the un- 
known poet is?" 

“Notwithstanding my efforts, I have not been able to 
find him out.” 

“But you, would no doubt, be pleased if the veil in 
which he envelops his person should fall away.” 

“Indeed, I usually care little or nothing for the per- 
sonality of the poet, for I have only to do with his 
works. But under the present circumstances I must 
acknowledge my curiosity, for I am not less anxious 
than the rest of the world to discover the man who, in 
these days, combines such great talent with such rare 
modesty. ” 

“Do you think that no one but a man could write 
such a poem? What if a woman should be hidden be- 
hind the veil?” asked Julie with a roguish smile. 


Mince and Mus^c^Ai^ 


isr 


“I do not attribute such power to a woman.’' 

"Indeed! I thank you in the name of my sex for 
your kind opinion. You do not seem to be particularly 
fond of literary women." 

"To be candid, I consider the part played by wo- 
men in our literature as more hurtful than helpful, al- 
though, as you know, I always recognize true talent 
wherever I meet it. But the majority of authoresses 
suffer either from morbid sentimentality or frivolity. 
Their thoughts seldom rise above a certain narrow 
sphere. Only when those obstacles disappear, can 
woman’s powers attain a rank in literature. Where 
a person like George Sand breaks through those 
ranks, it is generally done by force, at the cost of 
their happiness or of their womanliness." 

"In that I cannot agree with you, and I hope to dis- 
prove that easily. Of late a number of authoresses 
have sprung up who justify the reputation of our sex 
and who have given to romance especially a grand im- 
petus. ” 

"Of course the novel is woman’s peculiar field and I 
will gladly concede that in that line both in England 
and France at the present time, as well as in Ger- 
many, they exercise undisputed sway, unfortunately not 
in the interest of poetry and of good taste. I may ac- 
knowledge their delicate powers of observation, their 
knowledge of the human, especially the feminine heart ; 
on the other hand, they lack the insight into the depths 
and heights of life, the broad horizon, the necessary 
objectiveness and impartiality. To you here belong 
the narrow confines of home, to a man the entire 
world. Your especial domain is love in all its grada- 
tions and vicissitudes. Though that passion is great 
and powerful, although it influences all relations, it 


132 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


must not entirely govern the mind, suppress all other 
interests, as happens in most romances which are writ- 
ten by women for women. That is the way it happens 
that men read such books seldom.” 

"Our men have no taste for poetry; the}^ are entirely 
absorbed by politics and material interests.” 

“It is true that the politics and the materialism of 
the present day threaten to supplant the interest in 
poetical creations; but in spite of that all educated 
men are ready to receive the true poet. They simply 
require' more than mere amusement for a weary mind, 
more than those eternal love-stories, those hackneyed 
situations and characters. Would the modern novel, 
which, in my opinion, has a great future, fulfill its task, 
it must boldly grasp our entire social life in a poetical 
form, and reconcile the real with the ideal, combine 
truth with beauty, and show us the world and society 
in the mirror of a free, objective mind.” 

The entrance of the doctor, and the arrival of the 
expected guests, put an end to their conversation and 
gave it a general tone in which predominated the po- 
litical situation of the da}', which at that time took the 
place of all other interests. 


Ill 


THE SOLVED PROBLEM 

The gentlemen were discussing the impossibility of 
a continuance of the present political system, and Doc- 
tor Steiner was leading the debate. 

A slight noise at the door interrupted the speaker 
for a second; but he was so deeply interested in his 
weighty subject that he continued his theme without 
looking up, while the doctor’s wife greeted the lady 
who entered, and pleasantly invited her to take a seat, 
from which, unnoticed, she could hear the debate. 

The expressive features of the stranger betrayed a 
keen interest in the questions of the day; indeed so 
great was her interest that she paid little or no heed 
to the company, while, on the other hand, her pecul- 
iar beauty and striking appearance attracted much at- 
tention. Evidently she was one of those women who 
involuntarily and under all circumstances attract, and 
whenever they appear cannot long remain unnoticed. 

She charmed less by means of the regularity of her 
features than by her bright animation, and the fire 
which sparkled in her dark eyes. 

Her delicately arched nose and firm chin betokened a 
high degree of energy and will, and gave to the face a 
certain severity, which was, however, tempered by the 
soft, full lips, and the rounded cheeks; while the 
creamy complexion, at that moment slightly tinged 
with pink, reminded one ^of the peculiar coloring of 

133 


134 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


an antique statue. Her dress, too, although in no 
way striking, helped to make her conspicuous among 
the ladies of the company. A wreath of vine-leaves 
adorned her blue-black hair, which was cut short and 
curled, the full gown of white cashmere clung to her 
slender and yet well-developed form in graceful folds, 
and was clasped at the bosom with an artistic cameo 
set in gold. 

Her entire appearance was at once so astonishing 
and attractive, that she aroused the curiosity of those 
present, who asked the doctor’s wife many questions 
about her, as she had not yet found time to introduce 
the interesting lady. 

“A patient of my husband’s,” she replied, evasively, 
but with a mysterious smile. 

In the meantime the savant had exhausted his topic, 
and the discussion ended. But the merchant, Tran- 
gold, one of the most ardent and influential liber- 
als, detained Steiner, whom he liked. 

"Pardon me,” said their hostess, approaching them, 
"for being forced to interrupt you; but a lady who is a 
stranger here, wishes to become acquainted with Doc- 
tor Steiner.” 

"Acquainted with me?” asked the latter, in confu- 
sion. 

"You should not be surprised at that,” replied Julie 
with a smile, "for you are a well-known author, and 
we women are always enthusiastic over every celebrity. 
Moreover, I promised you a surprise for this evening.” 

"The victim is ready,” he replied with comical res- 
ignation. "I am at your service and yield to Fate. ” 

"You shall repent that, and apologize to me.” 

With those words his friend seized his arm and led, 
or rather dragged him, to the chair on which sat the 


Pard-n me,” said the hostees, approaching- them, “ for being forced to interrupt you.” p. 134 . 







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135 


strange lady. Then only did he glance at her, and 
recognized at once the interesting stranger from the 
Academy of Music, whose presence surprised him in 
the highest degree. 

"Fraulein Lij^ia Arvon, Doctor Steiner!" said Julie 
solemnly, taking a piischievous delight in his embar- 
rassment. 

Silently, incapable of uttering a word, the young 
scholar bowed, while a slight blush upon his usually 
pallid cheeks betrayed his inward emotion. 

"Ah! we are old acquaintances," said the strange 
lady frankly, offering him, with charming grace, her del- 
icate white hand, which he almost hesitated to accept. 
"As it seems," she added, "you have already forgotten 
our meeting." 

"Would that be possible! " returned Steiner, still 
striving for composure, "but this meeting is so unex- 
pected — " 

"Did I not tell you," said Julie, "that a surprise was 
in store for you? You see, I kept my word, although 
you did not deserve it from me." 

"Pardon, pardon!" besought Steiner. "How could 
I suspect such a delightful surprise?" 

"The surprise," said Livia pleasantly, "is only the 
incognito of Providence, which loves the strangest forms 
and disguises. As a consequence of that swoon, in 
which you came to my aid, resulted a delicate condi' 
tion, whose precursor that attack probably was. I con- 
sidered it necessary to seek medical advice, and found 
in Herr Eichler a clever physician and sympathetic 
friend, who after my recovery gave me everything that 
I lacked; a home which took the place of home, a ten- 
der, loving sister whom I found in this noble woman, 
in our mutual friend, Julie." 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


136 

"That was not very difficult,” replied the enthusiastic 
Julie, "for one only needs to learn to know you in or- 
der to love you. Such talent, such — ” 

"Did you not bind yourself to secrecy?” threatened 
Livia, with uplifted finger. "Not another word, or you 
will force me to leave the company.” 

"Y@u are the most obstinate person I know,” said 
Julie, good-naturedly, "and yet one must like you, 
nolens volens. From the very first I was drawn toward 
5^ou so instinctively, that I used the familiar form ‘thou,’ 
of which I am generally so chary.” 

"You made me inexpressibly happy, for you appeared 
to me in my loneliness as a rescuing angel. Through 
you I again learned to love the world, and became 
reconciled to my fate.” 

"For heaven’s sake,” cried Julie, "do not relapse 
into your former melancholy, from which I extricated 
you with difficulty. You would not believe," said she^ 
turning to Steiner, "how much trouble my new friend 
occasions me. Only with the greatest difficulty could 
I persuade her to emerge from her selitude, and to ap- 
pear here to-night. I believe that if she had not known 
you were to honor us, she would never have consented. ” 

"I admit frankly,” said Livia, "that I longed to ex- 
press to you my thanks, for I am more deeply indebt- 
ed to you than you are aware of.” 

• "You can say all that at the table,” said the doctor’s 
wife. "You will have ample time there to become bet- 
ter acquainted. ” 

With delight Steiner obeyed that indirect invitation, 
and offered Livia his arm, in order to 'conduct her in- 
to the dining-room, where he took his seat beside her. 
Soon he was deep in conversation with her, for she 
conversed with him as freely as ahe would have with 
an old, trus.ted friend. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


137 


Many of her thoughta, her peculiar pathos, and the 
almost poetical expression of her speech, struck Stei- 
ner. At times it seemed to him that he had heard or 
.read -the same thoughts, but he sought in vain to dis- 
cover the original source of those reminiscences. It 
might have been an association of ideas which reminded 
him involuntarily of tne much-talked-of anonymous 
poem, "Magdalena,” and of the still unknown author, 
and caused him to ask Livia if she had read the new 
work. 

Her sudden blushes, her visible embarrassment, must 
have impressed him so much the more, as his question 
was quite innocent. Apparently she struggled with 
herself before she could reply. 

"You seem to know the poet?" asked he, possessed 
with a sudden pleasurable thought. 

"What makes you think so?” she replied, evasively. 

"If I am not very much mistaken, you yourself are 
the gifted authoress." 

"Oh!" she whispered, with a blush, "I can and will 
not deceive you longer. To you alone will I tell the 
secret which is as yet known only to my friend and 
to her husband. As I have entrusted to you that secret 
which the claims of gratitude have drawn from me, I 
count upon your silence, for the world must never 
know that I wrote that book." 

"I thank you for that proof of your confidence, and 
I shall keep my word to you, although I think your 
modesty is carried too far. Why should not the world 
know and honor the poet?" 

"What do I care for the world?" replied Livia with 
a contemptuous curl of her pretty lips. "I am satis- 
fied with the praise and sympathy of my friends, among 
whom I shall count you from now on." 


IV 


AT THE EXHIBITION OF PAINTINGS 

From that evening Steiner loved the handsome, tal- 
ented poetess with all the passionate fervor of a heart 
which Cupid’s arrows had never touched. His enthu- 
siastic friend encouraged his inclinations. 

That enjoyable evening was followed by not less 
enjoyable days and hours, which increased their mutual 
admiration the better acquainted they became and the 
more they learned to esteem one another. 

Livia’s conduct was incomprehensible to Julie; she 
met Steiner in the kindest, freest manner; but his 
deeper feelings, his wishes for a more lasting, closer 
union, she did not seem to share, and when he allowed 
himself to be carried away by his passion, she gazed 
at him, half pained, half surprised, so that he did not 
dare to continue the confession upon his lips, lest he 
might w'ound and lose her. 

Encouraged and repelled by her at the same time, 
he continually hovered between blissful hopes and 
melancholy resignation, between the most perfect confi- 
dence and dire despair. 

But that mixture of sweet torture and painful bliss 
only served to fan the flame of his- love. 

While he was contented if he could only see and 
hear Livia speak, the doctor’s wife pursued her object 
with indefatigable zeal, not allowing herself to be 
frightened off by any further opposition. 

138 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


139 


“I will not," said she one day to Livia, "conceal 
from you any longer the fact that I cannot understand 
your conduct toward Steiner. As I know you too well, 

I do not think that you are practicing any .coquettish 
arts with regard to him. But, if you are not blind, 
you must surely have noticed that the good doctor 
loves you with all his heart and has no other wish 
than to make you his forever. He is not only an 
honorable man in the fullest sense of the word, but 
he IS very talented, and in every way worthy of you.” 

"You cannot think more highly of him than I do 
myself," replied Livia gravely, "and I confess frankly 
that he is the only man for whom I feel absolute 
respect, and the v/armest friendship." 

"Notwithstanding that, however, you will not give 
him your hand, and become the wife of the excellent 
man, who would protect and cherish you. Are you 
not, as you have told me, since your father’s death, 
perfectly independent and responsible to no one? 
What can prevent you, if you do not love another?" 

"I love no other man,” replied Livia with a blush, 
"but I prefer my present independence." 

"You do not yet know that women gain more by 
happiness and contentment, than by freedom." 

"But love, like every other sentiment, is subject to 
change, and can only too easily turn to indifference, 
apathy and hatred. " 

"For that very reason marriage seems tome so much 
the more necessary, because it steadies the fleeting 
inclinations, prevents that easy change of feelings, and 
gives to the woman the necessary protection in her 
family. ” 

"Is there then," cried Livia, almost angrily, "no 
other alternative than marriage? Can there not be, 


140 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


between a man and woman who mutually esteem one 
another, a purer, passionless tie which is founded upon 
a higher basis than that of the body and Mammon? 
Why should friendship be confined to those of the 
same sex? It would be sad were such the case. But 
experience has, fortunately, disproved such a false 
acceptation. It has been proven that there is a possi- 
bility of a pure union of souls, free from every earthly 
tie, from every oppressing force which only destroys 
love. In such a compact I will give Steiner my hand, 
with all my heart; but more I could not promise him, 
did I wish to." 

"Think of what you are doing,” replied her friend. 
"Would you really rob the noble man of all hope?" 

"Do not urge me farther,” besought Livia, "and do 
not be angr}' with me, if perhaps by my refusal I may 
wound your and him. You do not know how difficult 
that reply is for me, but I owe him and you the 
truth. " 

"I still hope,” said Julie, "that time will modify 
your views with regard to marriage, that sooner or 
later you heart will learn to know the bliss of love.” 

"No, no!” returned Livia, smiling sadly. "Let me 
remain as I am. But if you love me, do not mention 
the subject, to me so painful, again, or you will force 
me to remain away.” 

"You are and will always be,” said Julie, "a strange 
creature. That which delights other girls, the suit of 
a brave man, makes you sad. Ope would almost think 
you had some unfortunate love affair.” 

Livia did not reply, but the gloomy expression upon 
her lovely face warned the doctor’s wife that a con- 
tinuation of that conversation would wound her friend, 
so Julie urged her no farther, although she did not 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


I4I 

give up the hope of some day overcoming her friend’s 
prejudices against marriage. Indeed, Livia still 
received Steiner in the most unembarrassed manner, 
without betraying to him the clumsy endeavors made 
by her friend. 

In his company she often visited the various muse- 
ums and public institutions of the Residence, as well 
as the annual exhibition of paintings, which attracted a 
large number. Under Julie’s chaperonage they wan- 
dered among the art treasures, through the magnificent 
rooms, whose walls were hung with paintings. Livia 
here showed an extensive knowledge of art, and often 
surprising judgment of the latest painters and their 
works. ' 

One portrait in particular, beside that of an aristo- 
cratic lady in an elegant toilette, her voluptuous form 
enveloped in a costly ermine mantle, attracted in par- 
ticular the female portion of the visitors to the exhi- 
bition. It represented a young man in a gold em- 
broidered uniform, a manly Adonis. 

Upon Livia, too, that portrait seemed to make a 
deep impression, for at the sight of it she involunta- 
rily uttered a slight exclamation, which was, however, 
not heard by her friends, for they were at that moment 
examining the portrait of the lady. 

She had, therefore, sufficient time in which to regain 
her self-possession before Julie and Steiner approached 
her; nevertheless she was so agitated that her pallor 
struck her friend. 

“What ails you?” asked Julie, anxiously. “You look 
so strange, so ill.” 

“It is nothing,” said she in confusion, "merely a 
slight faintness, owing to the heat and to the crowd." 

“Let us leave the exhibition,” said Steiner. “A short 


14^ PRINCE ANt) MUSICIAN 

walk through the park will surely do you good and 
revive you." 

Mechanically she obeyed the cdvice of the faithful 
friend, whom she permitted to lead her out of the 
room. Silently she walked beside her companions, 
who were conversing about the exhibition, and more 
especially about the two portraits which, as Livia 
knew, represented the Prince von Schwarzfels and the 
Duchess von Taland. 

As Steiner criticised the artist’s work, Livia sud- 
denly, but with apparent indifference, asked: "Do you 
know Prince Schwarzfels?” 

"Who does not know the prince,” replied Steiner, 
with a slight tinge of irony. "It is almost impossible to 
evade him, he puts himself forward to such an extent. 
He is at home everywhere, on the oratorical platform 
and in the salon. He is a typical modern character, for 
in him are combined the most contradictory qualities, 
courtly magnanimity and diplomatic slyness, mediaeval 
chivalry and modern frivolity, the romanticism of a 
troubadour, the love of adventure of a Don Quixote, 
the corruptness and dissoluteness of a Richelieu, the 
poetry of a Byron and the perfidy of a Talleyrand.” 

"You seem to delight in paradoxes,” said Livia, 
somewhat sharply. "Such a character seems to me 
impossible. ” 

"The prince is, as I have already said, only the 
type of his times — a type which has no character. That 
is the curse of the present day, which possesses every- 
thing; knowledge, intellect, and talent, but no energy 
and morals, no faith nor idealism. As in the old fairy- 
tale, at the cradle of the modern world all the good 
fairies stationed themselves in order to endow the 
child with their finest gifts; the evil fairy who was not 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 143 

invited changed all their good gifts into bad ones. So 
it is with Prince von Schwarzfels; his courage appears 
as haughtiness, his courtliness makes of him an adven- 
turer, his amiability becomes coquetry, his good- 
nature, frivolity, his elegance, infidelity and perfidy.” 

“I know those people,” replied Livia, sadly. ‘‘They 
resemble the Fata Morgana, which deceives the eyes of 
the wanderers in the desert. When they draw nearer, 
the charming phantom vanishes, and they find nothing 
but gray fog and sand, vain lies, and hollow pretense.” 

"Such a man of pretense,” continued Steiner, with- 
out perceiving her excitement, ‘‘is the Prince von 
Schwarzfels, an accomplished actor who knows how 
to undertake well any role; to-day the enthusiastic 
lover, to-morrow the dissipated roue\ now the brave 
hero, now the reckless schemer.” 

‘‘An actor, nothing more than a miserable actor,” 
exclaimed Livia, with a bitter laugh. 

Amazed at her unexpected violence, Steiner gazed 
at her in surprise, but quickly controlling herself, she 
besought him to continue his interesting conversation. 

‘‘What the prince is not, he appears to be, and in- 
deed with such an art, that he almost is what he seems 
to be, so that he even can deceive the closest ob- 
servers. He is in politics, as in love, without faith and 
trust, striving only for the success of the moment, 
indifferent to all morals and propriety; an adventurer, 
a gambler at the faro-bank of life.” 

‘‘The adventurer should be unmasked, the world 
should have its eyes opened,” replied Livia, her eyes 
sparkling. ‘‘You, above all, doctor, seem to be capa- 
ble of attacking the prince, for you know him so well 
and can see through him.” 

‘‘I must not come too abruptly, for the prince is 


144 


prince and musician 


absurdly vain. He cannot do without the applause of 
the public, if he does frequently ignore public opinion. 
At any price, he tries to awaken attention, indifferent 
as to in what way. Society and politics, friendship 
and love, intellect and talent, serve him as food for 
his vanity. An opponent wounded in a duel, an elo- 
quent speech, a piquantly-written book — for the prince 
has, as you probably know, also appeared in the guise 
of an author — even public scandal, a compromised 
woman, a betrayed love, a broken heart, a reputation 
ruined forever, are to him only the desired means to 
his end. The modern Alcibiades would not even 
shrink from a crime, if he could only be talked of, and 
could wrap himself gracefully in the tattered, blood- 
stained garment of guilt — ” 

“Oh, how true, only too true!" murmured Livia, 
forgetting herself. 


V 


DARK EXISTENCES 

In front of the northern gate of the Residence, almost 
at the extreme end of the city, in the midst of vege- 
table gardens, smoking factories, and vacant lots, la}’ a 
small, one-story building, which was rented by its* 
owner, an old gardener, as, a summer-house. Notwith- 
standing the lateness of the season, new tenants arrived 
— two ladies who, either led away by the reasonable 
price, or from preference for a peaceful, retired life, 
chose that secluded quarter and settled in it. 

With the exception of the milk-wagons, drawn by 
dogs, and the doctor’s carriage, no vehicle passed 
through that lonely street, and the postman was their 
only visitor. 

These ladies rarely left their dwelling, and then 
only to obtain the fresh air, or to visit the theater, 
opera, and concert, where, as a rule, they hid them- 
selves, heavily veiled, in the least conspicuous seats, 
or in a dark box. 

This happened, likewise, on the evening on which 
the celebrated Norin gave his first concert, only with 
this difference, that the younger of the two went out 
alone, for the elder, who was the aunt, was detained 
at home by a sick headache. As the pain, instead of 
decreasing, grew more violent, she was forced to retire. 
Her eyes involuntarily closed and she sank into a deep 
sleep, from which she was awakened several hours 

145 


146 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


later by the loud chiming of a Schwarzwald clock. 

"Already eleven!” cried she, in affright. "And Livia 
has not returned. What does that mean?" 

Uneasy at her niece’s long absence, Johanna Wilmer, 
as the elder lady was called, rose from her couch and 
hastened to the window, in order to watch for her 
niece. But no one was to be seen in the deserted 
"■reet, not a footstep was to be heard. 

Her anxiety and impatience increased momentarily, 
for she feared some accident to the unprotected 
woman. She reproached herself for having urged her 
niece to attend the concert^ for she had wished to re- 
main at home, and to care for the invalid. Filled 
with vague suspicions and dread, the lad}^ determined 
to awaken the maid and the landlord, in order to 
search with them, notwithstanding her weakness, for 
the missing one. 

She dressed herself hastily and seized the lamp 
standing upon the table, when the door suddenly 
opened, and upon the threshold appeared Livia as pale 
and agitated as a ghost. 

At that unexpected sight her aunt uttered a pierc- 
ing cry, her hands trembled so that she almost 
dropped the lamp. 

"Livia!" cried she, "what has happened to you? 
You look like a corpse." 

"That is possible,” replied the latter, sinking into 
the nearest chair. "I have seen a ghost! I have seen 
him. ” 

"You are mistaken. Think. Whom have you seen?" 

"Hun! Alfred von Geldern!" . 

"You see him everywhere, because you thirk of him 
constantly. ” 

"No, no! I could not have been mistaken!" 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 147 

"But I think your over-excited mind has again 
deceived you. ’’ 

"This time I am only too sure. Nature could not 
create his likeness twice; those eyes, that smile, no 
other man in the world possesses. I should recognize 
him among thousands, were he to appear before me 
as beggar or prince, in a torn coat or a dazzling uni- 
form, upon the street or in the salon. His image is 
so fresh in my heart that no power in the world, 
neither time nor distance, could erase it." 

"You are beside yourself," said her aunt. "Try 
first of all to collect yourself, and tell me as nearly as 
you can where you thought you. saw him." 

"Yes, you are right, I must first collect my thoughts. 
My head is as confused as if I had a heavy dream, 
and yet I cannot doubt the truth. Let me think." 

For some time Livia sat there thoughtfully, her 
pretty head resting upon her hand. After a long 
pause she seemed to have recovered herself sufficiently 
to be able to make the wished for explanation. 

She then told her aunt what she had seen at the 
concert-hall; of her unexpected meeting with her lover, 
whom, from a conversation overheard, she discovered 
to be Prince von Schwarzfels, of his attention to the 
lady of rank, of his infidelity to her, of her swoon. 

"And Alfred? Did he not notice you, recognize 
you?" 

"I do not know, for I was borne away unconscious, 
A young man whose name, by reason of his literary ac- 
tivity, was known to me, took me from the crowd to the 
intendant’s house, where, after some time, I recovered 
myself sufficiently to thank him.” 

"It all sounds so strange, so like an adventure, that 
I really do not know what to think, " replied her aunt. 


148 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


after some consideration. “1 cannot yet believe that 
Alfred von Geldern and Prince von Schwarz/els are 07 te 
and the sa77te person. What reason could have actuated 
him to conceal his proper name from you, and to play 
such a venturesome game?” 

"I only know that Alfred is alive and the rest does 
not trouble me." 

"What will you do if your suspicions prove to be 
true?” 

“Can 3'ou ask? To-morrow I shall go to the prince 
.and claim my rights,” replied Livia, with mournful 
decision. 

‘‘Do not be too hasty!” warned her aunt. "A care- 
less step might spoil all, might compromise you. The 
whole affair seems to me so mysterious that I cannot 
help but advise you to be very prudent. Think of your 
embarrassment should you have been mistaken; if, on 
seeing the prince more closely, you should be convinced 
that you were mistaken, that a striking resemblance to 
Alfred von Geldern misled you. What a painful posi- 
tion for you, what danger to your future! You must 
not risk your reputation, your life’s happiness, so 
lightly. ” 

"You know that I have suffered for months, that I 
cannot bear this uncertainty any longer.” 

“It will only be a matter of a few days in order to 
learn the truth, and. to prove the identity of the Prince 
von Schwarzfels. For that four eyes are better than 
two, which are easil}^ dazzled by love and passion. As 
the prince is a public character and belongs to the 
most prominent residents of the Residence, it will not 
be difficult for us to see him again, and to obtain in- 
formation as to his life and deeds. When we have ob- 
tained the required certainty, it will be time enough 
to act.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


149 


“You are right, that will certainly be the best thing 
that I can do, in my peculiar situation. I will wait a 
few days, although I am sure this time that I have not 
been deceived.” 

“And should you be right, should Prince von 
Schwarzfels have deceived you under the name of Al- 
fred von Geldern?” 

“Then,” replied Livia, resolutely, “my revenge shall 
be as great, and greater than his crime." 


VI 


A BETRAYED WOMAN 

Not until after midnight did Livia seek her couch 
and then, in spite of her exhaustion, she could not rest. 

She was too excited to be able to sleep, and the 
memory of her past disturbed her. 

Once more she lived through, in her imagination, 
those blissful hours and days which she had enjoyed 
by the side of the beloved man, upon that solitary isl- 
and where she had first met and learned to know him. 
It was during the summer just past, when she, for the 
benefit of her health, and accompanied by her aunt, 
visited a resort up to that time little known, but of 
late becoming quite fashionable. 

For hours trivia would sit upon the shore gazing at 
the bluish-green waters, listening to the rolling of the 
waves, inhaling deep breaths of the bracing sea air. 
Many a day would Livia spend in her favorite spot, 
reading Heine’s ..poems or Byron’s sonnets, when she 
was not making plans for her own future. 

Her kind, but weak father, a wealthy land-owner, 
paid little or no heed to his daughter’s education ; and 
the child, after her mother’s death, was left entirely to 
herself. 

She would often leave her home for days at a time 
to wander in the woods, seeking berries with the vil- 
lage children, or lying upon the soft moss in some 

150 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 15I 

secluded nook listening to the rustling of the trees, 
the noise of the woods. 

Her romantic inclinations were increased, when, at 
her mother’s death, her aunt, Johanna Wilmer, came 
to the house and undertook the neglected training of 
the girl and the care of the household. 

The old lady, who had been a governess in various 
aristocratic houses, was well-informed, and soon exer- 
cised a great influence over the talented child’s im- 
pressionable mind, for she treated the motherless girl 
tenderly, probably cherishing in secret the hope of 
winning, sooner or later, the hand of her wealthy and 
still handsome brother-in-law. 

Unfortunately, her expectations were nipped in the 
bud; for, in the course of time, Livia’s i^ather married 
the daughter of a neighboring land-owner. Notwith- 
standing that circumstance, Johanna maintained her 
position, though very much disappointed at the fail- 
ure of her plans. 

She and Livia, therefore, formed an alliance, admit- 
ting into it a third person, a candidate for a teacher’s 
office, Herr Romisch, who instructed Livia in music 
and the sciences. 

He supplied the ladies with books, magazines and 
newspapers, the contents of which were hastily de- 
voured by Livia. As once she had wandered in the 
woods dreaming of a magic world, she now sat until 
midnight engrossed in her books, and solving the gr^t 
problem of existence. 

Her surroundings were not congenial to her, her 
father could not understand her, and her step-mother’s 
jealousy of her rendered their relations unpleasant. 

For years she lived in a world of her own creation. 
At length a suitor presented himself whom her step- 


152 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


mother and her father favored. But neither coaxing 
nor threats could bend the girl’s strong will. 

She was meditating flight in order to escape those 
persecutions, when her father’s sudden death left her 
free to follow her own inclinations. 

Unnerved by the continual strife and the shock of 
her father’s death, Livia repaired to the resort pre- 
scribed for her, where, under the care of her motherly 
friend, she soon grew stronger and regained her usual 
health and mental vigor. 

One day, busied with her plans for the future, when 
she intended to travel, to learn to know the world, to 
visit poets and artists, to load an ideal life, she sat 
by the sea, when she was disturbed by a loud report. 
In affright she dropped the book which she held in 
her hand. 

When she looked up, a sea-gull, its white plumage 
saturated with blood, lay at her feet, while before her 
stood a young man in a shooting jacket, who begged 
her pardon politely for having startled her. 

After having exchanged a few words with her, he 
proceeded on his way. Involuntarily her eyes followed 
the huntsman’s slender form until it disappeared. 

That adventure excited her fancy. Although he had 
uttered only a few words, those few words, his entire 
bearing, betrayed a certain aristocracy, and a romantic 
atmosphere surrounded the stranger. 

Livia’s curiosity was aroused and unconsciously there 
arose in her heart the desire to see that man again. 

She gazed almost indifferently at the sea, she list- 
ened absently to the rolling of the , waves. More 
than ever did she long for human companionship. 
Even in her dreams did she see the form of the hunter. 
Her sleep was restless, she awoke with a painful sen- 
sation which she could not describe. 



Before her stood a young- man in a shooting- jacket, p. 152. 







PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


153 


The next morning, as she sat with her aunt in -the 
tiny garden belonging to their modest abode, the maid 
came to tell her that a strange gentleman wished to 
speak to her. 

It was the huntsman, who had brought her lost 
book. He had, he' said, found it by the sea, and had 
picked it up with the intention of handing it in per- 
son to its pretty owner, and in that manner making 
her acquaintance. 

In order not to appear rude, Livia asked him to be 
seated. Quickly they entered into a conversation, for 
which the book found, Heine’s “Lieder, ’’ offered the 
richest material. 

Filled with admiration Livia listened to his words, 
and when he rose to take his leave and begged to be 
permitted to repeat his visit, she could not refuse his 
request. 

Perhaps, under other circumstances, Livia’ would 
have been more prudent and reserved; but the loneli- 
ness of the island, the freedom of life at a summer re- 
sort, the longing for intellectual intercourse, made her 
less careful, and daily favored an increase of intimacy. 

Soon he was no longer a stranger, although he 
observed a certain reserve with regard to his personal 
affairs, which only served to increase Livia’s interest 
in him. 

Only by degrees did she learn from him that he 
came from a noble family, for his name was Alfred 
von Geldern. As he told her later, he was forced, as 
the result of a duel, in w^hich he had mortally wounded 
his adversary, to conceal himself on that lonely island, 
in order to there await the result of that unfortunate 
affair of honor. 

Livia did not dream of doubting that plausible story. 


154 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


and with implicit faith she yielded to the affection in- 
spired within her by the agreeable, intelligent man. 

At his request she permitted him to accompany her 
upon her walks; she sat by his side in the light boat 
which danced upon the waves in the moonlight. En- 
raptured she listened to the stories of his interesting 
adventures and meetings with the most celebrated men 
and women, to descriptions of his journeys through 
France, Italy, and Spain. 

But with still greater rapture did she listen to the 
confession of his love, which she returned with all the 
fervor of her heart. By the quiet waters where they 
had first met, with passionate kisses they vowed eter- 
nal fidelity to one another. 

No one knew of her happiness with the exception 
of the faithful friend from whom Livia had no secrets. 
Still, eve» from her did she conceal the fact that at 
Alfred’s urgent request she had been secretly married 
to him, as she would not yield to him only as his wife. 

Not without hesitation had she suffered herself to be 
persuaded to take that venturesome step; but his love, 
his entreaties, her inexperience and blind faith, the 
romantic charm of a secret marriage, surmounted all 
opposition. 

In the presence of two inhabitants of the island, and 
a strange clergyman, she became Alfred’s wife. In her 
bliss she forgot the world and her family. 

For several weeks Livia lived with her husband upon 
the lonely island, never dreaming of the possibility of 
a separation. Alfred was the most tender, most 
thoughtful of husbands, the embodiment of all her 
ideals. But for some time she fancied she had noticed 
a certain depression, which he tried to hide from her. 
More especially did he seem to be troubled since the 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


155 


receipt of a letter which seemed to annoy him greatly. 
His mirth was forced, and upon his open brow lay a 
dark shadow. 

Anxiously she sought to discover the cause of his 
sorrow, and only after repeated urging did he confess 
that his mother, who was seriously ill, wished him to 
return to his home, where, 'apart from her condition, 
family matters required his presence. 

Livia would not have loved as she did had she not 
advised him to fulfill his duty and to leave all thought 
of her out of the question. She herself urged him to 
go, until finally he yielded, though apparently with 
reluctance. 

The pain of parting was somewhat assuaged by the 
hope of meeting again, for he promised to return as 
quickly as possible. Letters were exchanged, and in 
them she was enabled to pour out the wealth of her 
heart and mind to her beloved husband. 

But in a short while his letters grew shorter and 
rarer, owing to the press of business, as he said, until 
finally they ceased altogether. That silence rendered 
Livia uneasy, yet she did not doubt his fidelity. On 
the contrary she feared that something had befallen 
him, that his mother was dead, or that he was ill. 
With it all she was obliged to conceal her anxiety, and 
to make no effort to obtain news of him, for fear of 
injuring him, as she knew the duel was not forgotten, 
and his freedom was threatened. Then, too, his mother, 
who cherished aristocratic prejudices, must not find 
out, upon her sick-bed, about their secret marriage. 

For those reasons, upon his departure, Alfred had 
requested her to be very careful and not write to him 
under his own, but an assumed name. A letter might 
easily go astray, or even fall into the wrong hands. 


156 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

It was not difficult for her to find reasons for his 
surprising silence by means of which she tried to de- 
ceive herself. But at length sorrow and anxiety con- 
quered her, so that she could not conceal the secret of 
her life from her friend any longer. 

With amazement, but at the same time with mistrust, 
did Johanna hear the story of the secret union. She 
did not conceal her fear, her doubts, and strengthened 
Livia in her determination to leave the island and to 
repair to Alfred’s home to inquire about him. 

She did so, but no one in that neighborhood knew 
of a family of the name of von Geldern, nor had they 
ever known of them. All inquiries were vain and only 
served to convince her aunt that the name as well as 
the other circumstances had been invented simply to 
delude Livia. 

The unhappy woman could not believe in such un- 
heard of treason, in such deceit, and therefore tried to 
excuse the man she still loved. Her faith clung to the 
slightest straw, and she, in spite of all the proofs, did 
not give up the hope of finding him less culpable than 
he appeared to those who were disinterested. 

At length, however, after repeated, fruitless efforts 
to establish his innocence, Livia felt that he must be 
guilty. She still persisted in her search for him with 
^all the feverish excitement of her passionate nature. 
From land to land, from city to city, she followed his 
traces, until a faint hope led her to the Residence, 
where she lived at first in the strictest seclusion, until 
involuntarily she was drawn from it by circumstances 
which arose. 


VII 


THE MEETING 

In Prince Schwarzfels* elegant ante-room lounged his 
servant, so-called “handsome Henry,” while his master, 
after a night of dissipation, was slumbering in his 
luxurious room. 

Only after the bell had been rung repeatedly did the 
lackey make up his mind to rise from his comfortable 
arm-chair, and to open the closed door in order to re- 
fuse admittance to the untimely visitor. 

The, to him, not surprising sight of a veiled lady, 
seemed, however, to soften him more than if there had 
presented itself to him the face of a Jewish or Gentile 
creditor. 

Handsome Henry was too familiar with the prince’s 
relations, too deeply initiated in the mysteries and 
gallant adventures of his master, not to assume a pleas- 
ant air, when he saw that he had to deal with a repre- 
sentative of the fair sex. 

But at the same time he knew, from his long years 
of experience, that there were among the ladies those 
whose visits were more unpleasant than those of the 
coarsest usurers. 

Therefore handsome Henry preserved the requisite 
foresight and reserve toward the strange lady, suspi- 
cious to him, owing to her veil. 

“Can I speak to his highness?” she asked in an un- 
steady voice. 


157 


158 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

“I am sorr 3 ^ but his highness requires rest, and 1 
have the strictest orders not to disturb him." 

"My business is urgent, and cannot be deferred." 

"I suppose not," replied the servant, with an im- 
pertinent smile. "So say all the ladies who wish to 
see the prince." 

"Knave!" cried she, indignantly, throwing back her 
veil. 

Was it the sight of her sparkling eyes or a sudden 
memory? But handsome Henry seemed paralyzed and 
made not the slightest effort to restrain the lady when 
she, without deigning to speak to him or to glance at 
him, passed him by and opened the nearest door. 

"A pretty mess, " murmured the terrified lackey', star- 
ing after her as if he had seen a ghost. "Let the 
prince find some way to get rid of her. If she recog- 
nized me, I am lost. I must not see her again." 

As handsome Henry withdrew, in order to escape the 
lady, she reached, unhindered, the study in which the 
prince, in a light house-coat, lay upon a luxurious 
divan and seemed indeed to be asleep. 

Eagerl}' she gazed upon the features only too famil- 
iar to her — at the sight of them her last doubts disap- 
peared and she felt convinced that she had not been 
mistaken. 

Livia, for it was she, had at length, with the help 
of her friend, established the identity of the prince 
with her faithless husband, which was easily done, for 
he belonged to the public characters of the Residence, 
and she had often opportunities of watching him un- 
noticed. 

She. was determined to bring him to justice, and to 
present her claims to him. Yet she trembled before 
the decisive moment, at that first meeting, after so 
long a separation. 


MINCE AND MUSICIAJ4 


^59 


Her heart besieged by hatred and love, fear and 
hope, she waited until he awoke. He was still sleep- 
ing peacefully, unaware of her presence; Ife smiled 
in his sleep; no doubt he was dreaming of another 
woman, of a fortunate rival, of that proud, voluptuous 
duchess. 

Involuntarily she sighed, her trembling lips softly 
murmured his name. 

The prince opened his eyes, but fancied he was still 
dreaming, when he saw before him the deserted woman. 

“Livia!” cried he. 

Only after a painful pause did the prince regain his 
composure, of which her sudden appearance had 
robbed him. 

"Pardon me," said he, with a bewitching smile, for 
allowing you to surprise me, and for not welcoming 
you warmly! But you are in 3^our house and mistress 
here. Permit me, as your servant, to remove your 
heavy shawl, hat and veil, which deprives me of the 
sight of your charms: How beautiful you are! Still 
a dark shadow clouds your clear brow. Let me drive 
it away with my kisses, let me drive it away-with the 
breath of love, as in those poetical days, which I have 
certainly not forgotten." 

But the prince was mistaken in thinking that he 
could appease Livia’s anger as he had so often done 
with others of his acquaintance. With evident indig- 
nation, almost with loathing, she thrust aside his 
hand, while a burning glance cowed even the accom- 
plished libertine to such an extent that he scarcely 
dared to make a second attempt. 

"Ah!" said he in a soothing tone, "you are very 
hard upon me, harder than I deserve; you seem indeed 
implacable, pitiless. Day and night your image hov- 


i6o 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


ered over me. More than once I was about to return 
to you in order to cast myself at your feet, and to beg 
for your forgiveness, which you would surely have 
refused me if — ” 

"Enough!” interrupted Livia with a Utter smile. 
"Why this dissembling since I know all, your name, 
your rank, your entire past." 

"So much the easier," responded the prince, "can I 
hope for your forgiveness. You will now appreciate 
so much the better my peculiar position, will under- 
stand many things, excuse many things, will acknowl- 
edge that I could not, without danger, commit certain 
actions. Though I must confess that I have erred, I 
am in no way as guilty as you seem to think, and it 
will not be difficult for me to justify myself if you 
will listen to me calmly. Your love will exempt the 
sinner, or at least pardon him.” 

"Speak not of love," she replied. “Do not dese- 
crate that pure feeling, that most sacred of names. 
You simply wish to deceive me'again, but you will not 
succeed. Can you deny that you betrayed my trust, 
deceived me, abused my innocence? Dare I trust you 
again since I know that everything about y^ou, even 
your name, is one great lie, that your words, your 
promises, are as false as yourself?" 

"Those are bitter reproaches; but you forget the 
peculiar relations, those almost indissoluble bonds 
which my birth, rank and position impose upon me. 
I in no way deceived you when I told you of the 
obstacles in the way of our marriage; they existed 
then, and still unfortunately exist, as you no doubt see. 
Neither did I deceive you when I told you of my 
•mother’s illness and of her desire to see me again. 
The separation from you and my return to my home 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN l6l 

was a sacred duty which I could not escape without 
bringing upon myself a heavy responsibility. Neither 
was the duel a lie. Only one piece of deception I 
have to reproach myself with; that I concealed from 
you my true name, even when you had a right to my 
secret. It was a weakness, a romantic caprice, which 
you must excuse when you learn the cause from me. 
Yes, I wanted to be loved by you only for my sake; 
to have only myself, not my rank, to thank for your 
heart. Now condemn me, if you can, but I know that 
you will forgive me if I failed in my duty from vanity, 
or exaggerated delicacy, and deceived you." 

"Oh, how gladly," returned Livia, “would I exon- 
erate you, but I dare not. Did I wish to overlook your 
lack of faith, that secrecy, the falsehood with regard 
to your name, I could not forget your evident treachery, 
your lack of affection and your infidelity. Did you 
not desert me, and leave me a prey to despair and sor- 
row? You let me await your return from day to day; 
you did not come; even your letters, my last and only 
consolation, finally ceased, so that even my perfect 
trust in you was shaken. Do I need any other proof 
of your guilt, of your betrayal of my love?” 

"And yet you are mistaken,” said the prince, with- 
out losing his self-control, at that direct accusation. "I 
love you still, as in the first days of our secret happi- 
ness. Only the most important reasons could have 
made me desert you; but there remained no other 
alternative, to save you and me. Would I have will- 
ingly deprived myself of the sight of you, have left 
you for so long a time, have left your letters, your 
entreaties to return so long unanswered, have laid 
myself open to such painful suspicion, if your and my 
life’s happiness had not been in the balance? Yes, I 
did it all with a bleeding heart, because only in that 


162 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


way could I turn from us the threatening danger, 
could I protect you from the persecutions of my 
family, could I mislead our enemies.” 

Livia, although his words seemed improbable, in- 
fluenced by the power of her old, iinextinguished love, 
again believed his words. 

“You speak of dangers,” said she, in a softer voice, 
“which threaten us. Let me know what you fear, and 
you will find me ready for any sacrifice.” 

“Oh,” he replied sadly, “I do not fear for myself, 
although the avowal of our secret w'ould deprive me 
of the king’s favor, of my position, and of all my pros- 
pects of a brilliant future. But your fate concerns me 
far more, poor Livia. The inevitable consequences of 
one single act of folly will make you and me miserable 
forever. ” 

“Conceal nothing from me! " she besought, trem- 
bling not for herself, but for her beloved. “I must 
know the entire truth.” 

“How gladly,” he replied, hesitatingly, “would I 
have spared you this new sorrow, would I have borne 
the burden alone, but you force me to tell you what I 
have kept from you for so long, that I would rather 
have kept from you forever. ” 

“Oh! I am more courageous than you think, per- 
haps, when there is a question of your happiness.” 

“Well, by some unfortunate accident one of your 
letters fell into my mother’s hands; it aroused her 
suspicions, and she had me watched. Surrounded by 
her spies, my every step dogged, nothing remained 
for me to do but to be prudent in order to protect you 
from such a discovery, for I learned that my mother 
was determined to separate us, to have our marriage 
declared void. This alone was the reason for my, to 


prince ANf) musician 163 

you, inexplicable silence, for I feared to compromise 
you, to stake our happiness." 

"What can your mother do? Am I not your lawful 
wife? Was not our union sealed by the priest’s lips? 
Were she to try she would not succeed in breaking 
the sacred bond which unites us forever." 

"Alas," replied the- prince with a sigh, "her threat 
is not unfounded, for an old, unjust law maintains 
that the union of a man of my rank with a bourgeoise 
can be attacked." 

"You lie!" cried Livia, again seized with mistrust. 
"No law upon earth can maintain that; no nation upon 
earth would allow its wives and daughters to be dis- 
honored, deceived, an^ led astray by such a law. 
Would not every father blush, every man oppose it? 
You are only maligning divine justice in order to 
screen your infidelity, your treachery." 

"Calm yourself!" said the prince, terrified at her 
violence. "The law exists, and if you will not believe 
me, you will at least believe your eyes. I will fetch 
the volume so that you may be convinced that I am 
not deceiving you." 

"Remain!" said she gloomily. "I believe you, and 
know now what I have to expect of you." 

"No, no!" cried the prince with real feeling. "You 
are unjust to me, if you doubt me and my heart, if 
you consider me capable of such a shameless act. 
But does our love require public avowal, legal accla- 
mation? What care we for the world’s opinion, if we 
know that we belong to one another forever? Does 
marriage bind any closer than the arm of the beloved? 
Are the priest’s words worth more than my oath, and 
would you be happier and more contented to bear my 
name publicly? Were you an ordinary woman, I could 


164 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

understand your suspicions; but you are a woman far 
above the prejudices of the generality of people, free 
and bold, as the eagle in the air, strong enough to 
break through those bonds, to scorn those miserable 
formalities. ” 

Once more did the princess wonderful eloquence calm 
Livia’s doubts. 

Even his relations with the Duchess von Taland, of 
the nature of which she could scarcely doubt since that 
evening at the Academy, he excused by his peculiar 
position, by representing to her the necessity of assur- 
ing his future by the influence of a woman in so high 
a rank, and above all to mislead his proud mother. 

“You now see,” said he, with his most fascinating 
smile," that I did not deceive you, but only worked for 
your interest. Trust me farther and I shall surely 
succeed, in time, in overcoming all these obstacles. 
But we need patience, and above all, the greatest pru- 
dence. You must live more secluded than ever in order 
to awaken no suspicion. I will watch over you until 
the longed-for moment shall come, when I can ac- 
knowledge you as my wife and accord you the posi- 
tion which your intellect and beauty merit. Are you 
satisfied?” 

“I will believe you, but woe to you and me if you 
are deceiving me!" 


VIII 


HANDSOME HENRY’s PERPLEXITIES 

In a measure satisfied, Livia left the prince, who 
thought he had calmed the threatening storm. Not- 
withstanding, the unexpected meeting had agitated 
him more than he would have liked to tell, and left 
him uneasy. 

Charmed by Livia’s beauty and intellect, piqued by 
her resistance, which he seldom met with in women, 
he had been led into a step which he really regretted. 

He believed neither in the innocence nor virtue of 
a woman, so that he looked upon any means as per- 
missible. Under the influence of such opinions he had 
persuaded Livia to that secret marriage, of the illegal- 
ity of which he was aware. 

He thought he had nothing to fear from her, on 
account of her scorn of all etiquette, and his fears for 
the possible results were calmed so much the easier. 

When he found out his mistake, it was too late, 
although there were times when he rued his venture- 
some step, and really thought of defying all the preju- 
dices of his family and of his associates, and of making 
Livia his lawful wife. 

But those nobler sentiments speedily disappeared, 
for the prince had not the courage nor the moral 
strength to make such a sacrifice. 

However, he had important reasons for appeasing 
Livia*, and for not having an open rupture with her. 

m 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


1 66 

Before all, it was essential that he should obtain cer- 
tain papers which were in her hands, and which could 
easily compromise him. 

No one, in his opinion, could serve his purpose 
better than handsome Henry, the confidant of his ad- 
venture, who, on more than one occasion, had proved 
himself to be efficient. 

After some consideration, the prince touched the 
silver bell, whereupon the servant appeared, not yet 
wholly recovered from his first fright. 

“Henry,” said the prince, “you know the lady who 
just left me?” 

“I have that honor, “replied the lackey. 

“Good! Then I need not tell you that her unex- 
pected appearance has disconcerted me considerably, 
and cannot fail to impress you.” 

“Certainly not, your highness!” replied handsome 
Henry, with a peculiar wink. “I cannot think of the 
affair without shuddering. Fortunately, though, I think 
the lady did not recognize me in the ante-chamber.” 

“So much the better; then 5^011 have nothing to fear. 
Notwithstanding, we must be very prudent. You will, 
therefore, do well not to lose sight of the lady, and to 
keep posted as to her every movement. I wish to 
know with what persons slie associates, what persons 
she receives, and what sources of help are at hand for 
her.” 

“Your highness may depend entirely upon me, al- 
though I will not conceal the fact that such an under- 
taking is not agreeable to me.” 

“I know that you are a shrewd man, whom I can 
trust with the most important missions.” 

“Ah! you are too kind,” replied the flattered lagkey. 
“We are not so easily caught.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


167 


"For that ver}^ reason I have turned to you with the 
request that, besides the required news, you will obtain 
the wished-for letters for me, which I wrote to the lady 
some time ago. ’’ 

“That will be difficult, and might, were I to be dis- 
covered, bring me into unpleasant relations with the 
law. ’’ 

“I will protect you; my influence is sufficient to 
guard you from persecution; but it will hardly come 
to that, for you have already done more skillful things. 
This time, too, I reckon upon your talent and your 
discretion. For every letter I will pay an extra louis 
d’or. ’’ 

“I will do all that lies in my power. At the latest, 
in a week I hope to obtain for your highness the let- 
ters and the marriage certificate.” 

“I did not commission you to do that,” returned the 
prince, with a slight blush at the thought that the 
servant had guessed his secret wishes, which he feared 
to express. 

“But it does not matter if I bring it along?” 

The prince’s silence upon that delicate point was, 
to handsome Henry, a sign of consent. 

The knavish servant trusted to his luck, as well as to 
his experience in such matters, .to obtain the papers, 
for he knew that he would be compromised by them 
as well as his master. 

No means seemed, therefore, wrong to handsome 
Henry, for his own safety was at stake. But he must 
go to work with the greatest prudence in order not to 
expose himself to a dangerous discovery. 

With that object he exchanged his gorgeous livery 
for the blouse of an ordinary laborer, whose manners 
he tried to imitate. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


1 68 

In that dress he not only succeeded in watching 
Livia unnoticed, but, too, in approaching the maid 
who waited upon her, with whom it was no difficult 
matter for him to form a tender connection. 

When he had obtained what information he required 
he did not doubt but that with the aid of a double key 
he could open the secretary in which Livia, as he 
knew, kept her valuable papers. 

Like a bird of prey, handsome Henry hovered night 
after night about the house, awaiting a favorable mo- 
ment for the fulfillment of his plans, which was no easy 
matter, for both ladies seldom left their room. 

Still he did not lose patience, and waited until finally- 
Livia went out with her companion to take her usual 
walk. At once he took advantage of the twilight to 
enter the empty room unperceived, provided with the 
requisite instruments with which to open the writing- 
desk. 

But unexpectedly he came upon greater hindrances 
than he had foreseen, for the drawer resisted his efforts, 
and the double key, which he had obtained from a wax 
impression, would not fit. 

Therefore, nothing remained for him but to open 
the lock forcibly, which took more time than was to 
be spared. In the midst of his work he heard foot- 
steps, which announced the approach of the ladies. 

In order not to be surprised by them, nothing re- 
mained to be done but to leap through the opened 
window into the garden near by. 

Fortunately, as he knew, an old pear tree was not 
far off, and offered an excellent hiding-place. Without 
any premeditation, handsome Henry seized a bough 
and swung himself into the tree. 

But he was mistaken in his calculations, for the old 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


169 


gardener and steward of the house for some time had 
feared for its safety, several burglaries having been 
committed in the neighborhood. 

Armed with a rifle, every night before going to bed 
he went the rounds of his garden, accompanied by his 
watch-dog, which, scenting Henry’s vicinity, suddenly 
paused under the pear tree and attracted the attention 
of the gardener by his loud barking. 

"Who is there?” cried he, expecting a thief. 

Naturally handsome Henry did not reply, while the 
gardener cocked his rifle. "Answer, or I will shoot!” 
That threat sufficed to frighten the unfortunate to such 
a degree that he almost fell from the tree. However, 
he possessed sufficient presence of mind to choose the 
lesser of two evils. He preferred braving the danger 
of being recognized by Livia to being shot or to fall- 
ing into the hands of the brutal gardener or his dog. 

With a bold resolution and a still bolder leap, he 
swung himself through the open window again into the 
room in which were the two ladies. At the unexpected 
sight of a strange man, Johanna screamed, while Livia 
bravely advanced towards him. 

"Who are you, and what do you want here?” she 
asl^ed. • 

"For heaven’s sake, save me! ” besought handsome 
Henry. "If you do not hide me, I am lost! ” 

"First I must know if you are deserving of my pro- 
tection. ” 

"Oh! I am quite innocent,” he replied. "Only a love 
affair with the housemaid brought me here. You can 
ask her if I am not speaking the truth. The steward 
wanted to shoot me because he took me, in the dark- 
ness, for a thief. 1 am an honest man, and worthy of 
your pity, you can believe me.” 


170 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


The more Livia heard and saw the fugitive, the more 
familiar did his features and his voice seem to her; 
the more suspicious seemed to her that man whom she 
thought she had already seen under quite different cir- 
cumstances and among other surroundings. 

In order to assure herself, she approached him with 
the lamp in her hand, for, either from modesty or pru- 
dence, he stood in the darkest corner of the room. The 
bright light which fell upon handsome Henry was not 
at all pleasant to him; he covered his face with both 
hands as if he wished to shut it out. 

“Why do you hide your face from me?” asked Livia 
mistrustfully. “If you have a clear conscience, you 
need not fear to look at me.” 

“I do not like the light,” he stammered in confu- 
sion. 

“Take your hands away! ” she commanded, in a man- 
ner which would admit of no resistance. 

With a sigh, the lackey complied. In secret he 
cursed the fate which had thrown him into the hands 
cf the woman whom he had the greatest occasion to 
avoid; he cursed his ill-luck, and his master, the Prince 
von Schwarzfels, most of all, to whom alone he owed 
the entire mishap. 

His former impertinence had disappeared and had 
given place to cowardice, so that his entire body trem- 
bled, when, to his despair, he heard the voice of the 
gardener, who still was in search of the thief, and who 
knocked, in order to search the ladies’ rooms. 

“Grace! Mercy!’' groaned the guilty lackey. “Do 
not make me miserable, madame!” 

“Only on one condition will I spare you,” replied 
Livia; “that is, if you tell me the truth, and do not con- 
ceal the slightest thing from me. I want to know who 
sent you here." 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


17I 

“His highness, Prince von Schwarzfels, whose serv- 
ant I am.” 

“With what object did you steal into my room?" 

“His highness wished to have certain papers again 
which are in madame’s possession.” 

“Betrayed! shamefully betrayed!” murmured Livia. 

“Calm yourself!” said the anxious friend. “The 
word of such a person cannot be very reliable.” 

“Alas! I know that he is speaking the truth. But 
that is .not all,” she continued, turning to handsome 
Henry. “If I am not mistaken, I have seen you before, 
though in another dress. You probably remember what 
role you played?” 

“I really do not understand what role madame 
means,” stammered handsome Henry, in the greatest 
confusion, as his face colored, and large drops of per- 
spiration stood upon his brow. 

“Shall I assist your memory?” asked Livia. 

“No, no!” cried the terrified servant. “You need not 
trouble yourself. I will hide nothing from you. But 
remember, madame, that I am only a poor serving-man 
who must obey his master’s orders. You may believe 
me, and I swear it, that I hesitated long enough before 
I allowed his highness to persuade me to take part in 
that farce; but you know yourself how he influences 
everyone. He represented the whole affair to me so 
innocent, as such a jest, that I finally believed him 
and allowed myself to be led.” 

Each of his words was to Livia as the stroke of a 
dagger; but she did not desist until she had obtained 
the whole truth from the traitor. 

Only when she could no longer doubt the prince’s 
guilt did she free handsome Henry; but not before she 
had commanded him not to tell the prince of the in- 


I72 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


formation he had given her, which naturally was no 
difficult matter for him, as his personal interests were 
concerned. 

That night, as a result of the excitement, Livia was 
taken ill, and for several days hovered between life and 
death, from which she was saved by the care of Dr. 
Eichler and the nursing of her aunt, who did not leave 
her bedside day or night. 


IX 


A NEW LIFE 

When Livia rose from her sick-bed, she seemed to 
herself entirely changed; her ideals were destroyed, 
her illusions had disappeared, and of all her dreams 
nothing remained but the remembrance of her innocent 
shame. 

“I fear I shall become insane,” moaned the unhappy 
woman. 

“You must try to forget him,” advised the anxious 
Johanna. 

“That is not possible. I cannot banish the terrible 
affair from my memory. I cannot forget how he has 
deceived me. Only the hope of revenging myself has 
kept me alive. Now I know that hatred is more power- 
ful than love.” 

“What can you do against the prince?” 

“Have I not the proofs of his guilt in my hands? ’’ 

“They will be of no use. Remember, the prince de- 
fies even the law, on account of his position. At a pinch 
he would turn to the king for aid. But even if your 
secret marriage were legal, I think that its legality 
might be assailed, as you are not his equal in birth.” 

“I shall at least brand him by such an accusation, 
so that the finger of scorn will be pointed at him, and 
respectable men will refuse him their recognition.” 

"Poor Livia,” replied her aunt, sadly. “You do not 
know the world; still less the one in which the prince 

173 


m 


Mince and musician 


moves. Its opinion depends principally on success, 
position, and wealth. Woe to the poor, and especially 
to the defenseless woman! Nothing remains for you 
but to bear your fate in silence, you would be van- 
quished in the unequal struggle, and injure yourself 
alone. ” 

“No, no!” replied Livia. “There is justice higher 
than earthly law. The measure is overflowing; the in- 
jury cries to heaven. The da}^ will come when I shall 
be revenged upon the traitor.” 

To such outbursts of passionate grief followed an 
unnatural calmness, a silent brooding over desperate 
resolutions and wild plans, which almost bordered on 
madness. Fortunately, however, Livia found a heal- 
ing balsam for her wounds in her own talent. As a 
result of her mood, she wrote that poetical work which 
she produced after her convalescence. 

Her own lot afforded her material for an excellent 
tragedy, in which she depicted with boldness and pas- 
sionate warmth all the sorrows, all the tortures of a 
woman’s heart. 

It was the first act of her vengeance. 

The feelings with which she was possessed made 
her more ready to receive Steiner’s suit, which at first 
she had rejected so decidedly. Since the day on which 
he had expressed his opinion so clearly of Prince von 
Schwarzfels in her presence, she thought she had 
found in him an ally and a tool for her revenge. 

All those reasons prompted Livia to listen more read- 
ily to his wishes. Her grief was too fresh, her heart 
too recently disturbed, to return his love; but she at 
least accepted his attentions, and was still too much a 
woman not to feel flattered by the passionate adoration 
of such a man. 


Mince and musician 175 

More than once was she tempted to confide in Steiner 
the secret of her life, but she refrained from doing so, 
fearing by such a confession to lose his esteem. She 
did not wish to deceive the honorable man, to abuse 
his implicit faith; but fear of lowering herself in his 
opinion led her into untruths and a falseness foreign 
to her nature. nr 

So she became constantly more deeply involved in 
the net which in vain she tried to break, though she 
felt that the ground was trembling beneath her feet. 

“You must,” said her aunt, try to put an end to 
this indecision. Steiner offers you his hand and he 
alone can raise you from your false position.” 

“I am not* yet perfectly certain,” returned Livia, 
“that the prince is not playing me a trick, that my 
marriage is not valid.” 

“You can no longer doubt it since his confidential 
servant has made such a confession to you. You your- 
self recognized in him the false divine who married 
you. You have been the object of a knavish trick 
which is unequaled.” 

"And yet I cannot believe. I have, therefore, written 
to the prince.” 

“To this day you have received no reply. His si- 
lence is the best proof of his guilt." 

“You know that he was away for some time.” 

“But he has returned; notwithstanding, he has not 
taken the least notice of your letters, because he fears 
to commit himself. At the same time he counts upon 
your discretion, or, rather, your fear of the publicity 
of such a scandal, which would fall partly upon you.” 

“So much the less can I listen to Steiner, for I will 
not deceive the honorable man. From what I know of 
him, he would never forgive me such deception. I 
should not outlive such disgrace.” 


176 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“Such a thing could not happen, for all the partici- 
pants, and especially the prince, are interested in keep- 
ing the affair quiet. In that direction you have noth- 
ing to fear. You are in no way bound, for you were 
never really married.” 

"Yet a secret voice wa*ns me against such a step.” 

“You are entirely innocent, ^hould you, therefore, 
refuse all future happiness, the hand of a man who 
seems made for you?” 

If her aunt did not entirely succeed in convincing 
Livia, the latter was at least disposed to listen to 
Steiner’s wishes, and inspired him, therefore, with 
the most joyful hopes. 

Yet he was not sure of his happiness, for she hesi- 
tated from day to day to speak the decisive word, as 
she still expected news from the prince. 

In the meantime the political situation had changed 
and the young scholar had become over-night one of 
the most influential party-leaders, without any especial 
effort on his part. 

At the assembly of the new parliament, Steiner was 
elected by a large majority, and became at once the 
hero and defender of the people. 

These new developments influenced Livia. She saw 
in Steiner the prince’s opponent — the one, the inspired 
leader of the democracy, the other, the haughty, over- 
bearing aristocrat. Another life seemed to open out 
before her, her entire past was only a dream. 

The breath of spring seemed to have passed over 
the land. The streetg^ and houses were decorated with 
the standards and colors of freedom, everywhere were 
to be met happy men who rejoiced in the victory won, 
and who shook hands in brotherly love. 

Livia could no longer withstand that influence. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


177 


Flattered by the love of such an honored man, urged 
by her friend, she gave Steiner her hand, she became 
his wife. 


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\ 


PARLIAMENTARY STRUGGLES 

A new era had dawned; from all corners of che 
fatherland came the representatives of the people, in 
order to realize the dream of unity and to help found 
the building of freedom for future times. 

Into the midst of that assembly of men of all ranks 
and stations, came Steiner. He was inspired by the 
share of the mission which had fallen to him. 

With him appeared Dr. Bergemann, that keen 
sophist, and Prince von Schwarzfels, so that the repre- 
sentatives of the most diverse parties were reunited. 

The various associates formed into groups with their 
leaders. Anarchism and . republicanism, feudal rule 
and governmental rights were the topics of the day. 

Here was assembled the conservative element 
around Prince von Schwarzfels, defending their old- 
time privileges with all the weapons at their com- 
mand. There could be heard Doctor Bergemann’s voice 
threatening society, while he flattered the passions of 
the crowd. 

Between those extremes came Steiner, with his po. 
litical followers, advocating the necessity of a radical 
change, both with regard to the defenders of the feu- 
dal system and the leaders of republicanism, and 
keeping, above all, before their eyes, the weal and the 
unity of the fatherland. 

His eloquence, his reputation, and his tried character^ 
181 


i 82 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


soon obtained such an ascendancy over the assembly 
that even his opponents were forced to acknowledge 
his great ^alent, and to respect his independent views. 

Even Dr. Bergemann offered his former friend and 
ally his hand, which the latter did not refuse to touch. 

Without the assembly, too, their intercourse was 
friendly, for Livia was interested in the intellectual 
doctor and wished to make his acquaintance. She 
even took more interest than ever in political matters, 
and on important debates never failed to appear in 
the gallery. On that particular day when the doctor 
inveighed against the rights of the nobles, the gallery 
was filled with spectators. 

Among the most prominent were to be seen the 
Duchess von Taland, Baron von Gallon, with his ro- 
mantic wife, the poetical counselor of the embassy, 
and Count Harrer. 

“What do you say to such insolence?” asked the 
vice-president of the Jocke}’ Club. “These people 
wish to do away with the nobility. How absurd! No- 
bility is as old as the world, and will stand as long as 
the world stands. Is not that your opinion?” 

Then followed a debate in the gallery, which was 
interrupted by the president’s bell, which gave the sign 
for the anxiously-waited transactions. 

Upon the rostrum appeared Dr. Bergemann, in order 
deliver his oration on the abolishment of the aristo- 
cratic privileges. 

Before he began, he involuntarily glanced toward 
the gallery where Livia sat, and by her eyes and her 
smile seemed to inspire and spur on the debaters. 
She followed anxiously the struggle which would re- 
sult, she hoped, in the defeat of the Prince von 
Schwarzfels and the Duchess von Taland, who would 
suffer the most. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


183 


When the doctor had concluded and the tumult had 
in a measure subsided, the prince, as defender of the 
cause, ascended the rostrum. 

His full, sonorous voice, his gestures, and his fine 
declamation, announced the master of elocution, al- 
though they lent him a theatrical air. He spoke with 
energy and ease against the subject in hand, from his 
romantic, feudal standpoint. At the same time he did 
not fail to place himself in his best light. Incident- 
ally he touched upon his acquaintance, or intimacy, 
with the first statesmen of England and France, or 
with the literary and scientific lights of the day. 

The prince celebrated, indeed, a fresh triumph, and 
was interrupted more than once by loud applause from 
his party. From time to time he paused to note the 
effect of his eloquence, and frequently glanced toward 
the gallery. 

Suddenly he stopped in the midst of his eloquence, 
just at the moment when he thought he had gained a 
victory over his opponents. His voice faltered, his 
confident manner disappeared, and he left the so artis- 
tically-begun sentence unfinished. 

No one but Livia suspected the cause of that unex- 
pected interruption. The mere sight of her had sufficed 
to rob him of his self-possession, and to turn the as- 
sured triumph into a complete defeat. In vain, did he 
try to forget what he had seen. Her eyes followed 
him wherever he turned, and involuntarily, as if im- 
pelled by an invisible power, he glanced at her again. 
Still she sat there, her pale, beautiful kce with its 
familiar features, turned toward him, her dark, glow- 
ing eyes fastened severely upon him. 

The consciousness of his guilt, the surprising meet- 
ing, paralyzed his powers to such an extent that the 


184 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


\ 


prince broke off his speech amidst a general murmur, 
and, pleading sudden indisposition, he left the plat- 
form. 


II 


THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY 

After that memorable meeting the two parties were 
more bitterly opposed than ever. The salon of the 
Duchess von Taland became the meeting-place of the 
aristocracy, which, at any price, sought to win back its 
lost influence. There, Prince von Schwarzfels devel- 
oped a plan, with the help of his friend, the duchess, 
for a dangerous reaction. 

“As I hear," said the prince, “in a few days a na- 
tional assembly is to be held; with the aid of several 
paid brawlers a disturbance can easily be created, and 
will furnish us with an opportunity of calling out the 
soldiers. " 

‘Will you stand the responsibility?” asked loyal 
Count Harrer. “I hate all such underhand doings, al- 
though I am ready to meet our enemies in open com- 
bat. As soon as my king calls I will do my duty.” 

“Why all this dallying?” asked the vice-president 
of the Jockey Club. “All those rascally dogs should 
be shot down without further delay. That is my ad- 
vice, and until it is done we shall have no peace.” 

“Do you know,” said the duchess, “that there is talk 
of a new revolutionary ministry to be formed of the 
most prominent members of parliament? Among them 
they mention Dr. Steiner as a candidate. “ 

“Dr. Steiner!” cried the prince, with evident per- 
plexity. “It is impossible." 

18 o 


i86 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“There are at present no impossibilities. The doc- 
tor’s wife," said Baroness von Gallon, “already fancies 
herself ‘excellence,’ if not wife of the president of 
the new Republic. Your highness no doubt knows 
the lady." 

"I?" asked the prince, in confusion. “How should I 
know her?" 

“They say she is very pretty and intelligent," said 
the counselor of the legation. 

“A blue-stocking," replied the duchess, with a con- 
temptuous shrug of her shoulders. “An adventuress 
who, they say, is a poor imitation of Mme. Roland. 
We will not grudge her and her husband their short- 
lived pleasure, for the parliamentary farce -will soon 
be at an end. " 

While about the Duchess von Taland assembled the 
feudal elements of society, about Livia assembled the 
democratic party-leaders, attracted as much by her 
beauty and intellect as by Steiner’s influential posi- 
tion. 

Livia herself entered earnestly into the political sit- 
uation. Actuated by a thirst for vengeance against 
the prince, she at the same time found gratification 
for her ambition. 

She tried to imitate the celebrated women and 
heroines of the first French revolution, and above all 
Mme. Roland. 

With that view she strove to attach to her the most 
prominent members of parliament, and especially Dr. 
Bergemann, as he, after her husband, was the most 
capable man in the assembly. 

To him freedom was a matter of indifference. His 
ideals were to be found in anarchy, in the complete 
dissolution of society. Fatherland, family, estates, 
iaith, were phimer.as to him. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


187 


As he stood almost alone in parliament, by virtue 
of his opinions,- and his influence was limited there, he 
sought to win, without the assembly, his lost ground 
by influencing the excited people by means of his 
eloquence and his socialistic tendencies. 

The sly demagogue took care to expose himself as 
little as possible, and did his work through others, he 
holding the threads, and guiding his puppets at his 
will. 

His teachings had already borne fruit. 

Prince von Schwarzfels, too, nourished the discon- 
tent of the masses by sending his secret agents among 
them in order to bring about his ends. 

Handsome Henry, who was still in his service, often 
mingled in disguise with the people, and scattered, 
broadcast, money which flowed from the coffers of the 
Duchess von Taland. 

Government in the meantime waited calmly, and 
allowed the revolution to discredit itself, while it 
quietly prepared its plans. 

So much the more busy was the secret reaction. 
The speakers were mostly well-known personages from 
the cultured classes, with here and there a laboring- 
man, or one of the people. 

Usually the hastily-improvised platform, around 
which the crowd pressed, stood in the open air. Here 
the topics of the day were discussed, decisions made, 
petitions started, and carried out by the easily-excited 
mob. 

The clubs and assemblies so constituted were often 
visited by Livia in the company of Dr. Bergemann, 
for she showed a preference for such exciting scenes, 
while her husband avoided them as much as possible, 
without, however, opposing or restricting his wife’5 
inclinations in any way. 


i88 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


Steiner respected his wife’s individuality and excused 
her extreme views with her poetical nature, so that 
he raised no objections either to her conduct or to her 
familiarity with Dr. Bergemann, with whom he had so 
many interests in common. 

As long as Livia was with Steiner the evil demons 
of hatred and revenge seemed to leave her, and she 
seemed raised above all the temptations and trials of 
the world. She now hovered in the highest regions 
of the world of thought, now yielded to the wildest 
suggestions of her strained fancy. The harmonious 
equilibrium of the mind was lacking. So much the 
more charming did she seem in those moments when 
she exercised a magical power by the might and full- 
ness of her genius and caused all her weaknesses to 
be forgotten. 

At such moments there was no man who could have 
resisted her, and even Steiner experienced a feeling of 
inexpressible bliss in the possession of a wife who 
united, with the greatest beauty, all the gifts of genius, 
the highest inspiration. 


Ill 


A MODERN TRIBUNE OF THE PEOPLE 

Since the early days of his acquaintance with Livia, 
Dr. Bergemann was possessed with a glowing passion 
for the wife of his former friend. Only on her account 
had he renewed their early ties and simulated a friend- 
ship which his heart did not feel. He envied doubly 
his fortunate rival, both for his political influence and 
his possession of such a wife. To snatch both from 
him, was his only wish. 

With that aim he sought to gain Livia’s confidence, 
to learn her character, her weaknesses. She was his 
study by day and night, a problem which he would 
solve at any price. 

A thoughtless word, a casual remark, a gesture, a 
smile, sufficed for him, formed a link in the chain of 
evidence which daily brought him nearer the truth. 

Soon he perceived that JLivia had a secret from the 
world, and especially from her husband, and that by 
possessing it he could attain his object. 

He became her escort to all the clubs, assemblies, 
and public demonstrations. 

On one of those occasions, at a certain hour, a meet- 
ing of all democratic elements was to take place, at 
his instigation, in order to send a petition to parlia- 
ment with regard to the unsatisfactory conditon of 
politics. The assembly was composed principally of 
the lower classes. Bergemann, too, was present, ap- 

189 


tgo 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


parently as an interested spectator and Livia’s escort, 
while he was in reality the leader and soul of the 
movement. 

Here and there he exchanged a significant glance 
with his confidential agents, or uttered to some labor- 
ing man a few friendly or indifferent words, behind 
which was hidden a secret meaning. 

One man who addressed the meeting, toward its 
close, seemed to electrify the audience. He was about 
forty years of age, and his pale, emaciated face be- 
spoke years of suffering and bitterness. His long, gray 
hair, and tangled beard, which reached almost to his 
waist, gave him a wild appearance. In his blue, deep- 
set eyes, lurked a strange glow, an immeasurable 
fanaticism. 

His words were not clothed in obscureness, but 
were words of conviction. 

Clearly he depicted the political situation, the posi- 
tion of the parties, the incapability of parliament. 
In cutting phrases he denounced the cowardly citizens’ 
actions, mocked at the weakness and inactivity of the 
so-called "Liberals,” and declared himself for the 
socialistic republic. No orator before him had spoken 
so sharply and energetically, had expressed with such 
reckless fanaticism his communistic tendencies. 

"Who is that man?” asked Bergemann of his neigh- 
bor, during a pause. 

No one seemed to know him, only Livia fancied she 
had seen him before, and was reminded through him of 
her former teacher, Romisch. 

Inspired by the desire to see her old, and as it 
seemed to her, needy friend again, she told Dr. Berge- 
mann of her suspicions and asked him to seek out the 
orator, who had already disappeared in the throng. It 


prince and musician 


191 

was no easy matter to find him, and in his search Dr. 
Bergemann came near being separated from his com- 
panion. 

The excitement during that last speech had reached 
its highest pitch, and it only required the slightest 
occasion for a conflict, an outbreak, not at all uncom- 
mon at such times; a word, a suspicious movement 
would be- sufficient under the circumstances. 

"Catch the spy!" suddenly cried a voice in the 
throng. 

"A spy? Where is he? Kill him! Hang him!" 
resounded from all sides. 

Then followed terrible confusion. Chased by the 
angry mob, the sacrifice pointed out, handsome Henry, 
rushed by with a pale face and distorted features, like 
hunted game. Prince von Schwarzfels* sly servant 
had, at his master’s wish, attended the meeting, and 
had, in spite of his disguise, been suspected of being 
a "red." Recognized as a tool of the reaction, he was 
in the greatest danger of being ill-treated, or even 
killed by the enraged people. 

A hundred brawny arms were outstretched to seize 
him, or strike him down, when, glancing around in 
search of help, he saw Livia near by. 

‘Save me, gracious madame!" cried the unfortunate 
man, falling at her feet. 

"Kill the dog! Down with the traitor!" 

"For heaven’s sake," implored the man, "help me 
once more, as you did before. I will be eternally 
grateful to you. You know that I am familiar with 
all the prince’s secrets, and can tell you about him. 
You shall learn all, if you will only protect me this 
time. ” 

With amazement Dr. Bergemann heard Henry’s 


192 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


peculiar supplication, which betrayed intimacy with 
Livia, and promised him the solution of the long- 
sought-for secret. While she hesitated, the agitator 
spoke a few words to the mob. 

"I believe,” said he, with a peculiar glance at Livia, 
"that this lady, the wife of the famous Steiner, knows 
the man, and will vouch for his innocence." 

"Indeed,” stammered Livia, " 1 know him." 

"No, no! ” cried an obstinate fellow. "The man is 
a spy. Prince von Schwarzfels’ servant.” 

The very name of the hated aristocrat sufficed to 
fan the flame. 

Even the presence of the well-known Bergemann 
could not have protected Henry, and he would surely 
have been lost if Livia had not at that moment espied 
the face of the school candidate and favorite orator 
among the followers. Through the confusion she suc- 
ceeded in making herself known to him, and claiming 
his protection for the man. 

"Let the fellow go,” said he. "He is only his mas- 
ter’s tool.” 

"Bravo!” cried the mob, "Down with the prince! 
Let the fellow go!” 

While the majority ere satisfied, there were a few 
who did not wish to let Henry escape without making 
an example of him. 

"Back!” commanded the fanatic. "Would you stain 
your hands with this miserable man’s blood? He is 
only a poor slave, who must obey his master. Instead 
of killing, we will free him. He is not to blame, but 
his master; and we must bring him to justice.” 

"The sooner the better!” cried the mob wildly. 

In order to draw him from the gaze of his persecu- 
tors, the leader of the people offered handsome Henry 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


193 


his hand, and led him, - followed by Livia and Dr. 
Bergemann, out of the menacing throng into the open 
air. 

While Livia was greeting her old friend and teacher, 
and listened to his recital of his wanderings. Dr. 
Bergemann found an opportunity to ask a few appar- 
ently innocent questions of Henry with regard to 
Livia’s relations to him, or, rather, to Prince von 
Schwarzfels. 

Although the sly fellow was careful not to tell him 
the whole truth in order not to compromise himself, 
his replies gave Dr. Bergemann the principal points 
of the secret. What was still obscure he hoped to 
clear up, with Henry’s aid, and the galvanic charm of 
a few gold pieces. 

The unexpected appearance, too, of the fanatic, was 
for many reasons welcome to Bergemann, who saw in 
him a useful ally for his secret plans and purposes. 
Livia’s friend and teacher, the popular orator who 
exercised such power over the minds and actions of 
the multitude, was a tool not to be despised in the 
hands of so skilful an agitator. 

With the help of both, Bergemann hoped to attain 
his object; to win Livia’s love, and to undermine 
Steiner’s political position. 


IV 


ARISTOCRATIC STRATAGEMS 

By such proceedings the minds of the people were 
daily]more inflamed, and a struggle between the parties 
seemed inevitable. 

At first the mob contented itself with receiving this 
.or that deputation on its way to parliament, now with 
loud acclamations, now with derisive hissing and hoot- 
ing. They hesitated to perform acts of violence. 

Only the fanatic, Romisch, was not frightened by 
the danger and its possible results, for he loudly and 
openly egged on the men. 

They forced their way into the halls and corridors 
of the assembly-rooms; the majority of the .members 
rose from their seats, but the president, who alone 
retained his self-possession, bade them to be seated. 
In the meantime, the doors of the House were bolted 
to keep out intruders. They beat upon the doors until 
they almost yielded, and through the gap could be seen 
their angry faces. Soon the pressure upon it** forced 
it open, and the foremost in the mob entered, ready to 
dare the worst. 

Suddenly Steiner rose and met the madmen on the 
threshold at the risk of being maltreated. 

*'What do you want here?” he cried. "In the sacred 
spot upon which rests the majesty of the people?” 

"We wish to bring our enemies to justice,” replied 
the fanatical leader, ‘‘to cleanse the assembly of the 

194 


PftiNCfi AN£) musician 


iQS 

impure elements which betray freedom, and wish to 
subject and oppress the people.” 

"You need not seek the traitors here,” replied Steiner. 
“We are simply the mirror of the people, in which 
they see their own image. You attack yourselves if 
you attack a member of this assembly. We are one 
for all, all for one.” 

Such a speech did not fail in its effect, coming from 
the mouth of such a man. 

The danger, if not entirely done away with, was at 
least lessened. In the meantime the officers without 
had succeeded in clearing the galleries and corridors. 
With fury Bergemann saw his plans for the time-being 
frustrated, but he did not give up the hope of attain- 
ing his object. 

Prince von Schwarzfels, although universally detested, 
was in no way satisfied. His vanity was wounded at 
the thought that Steiner would be the hero of the 
day. 

So within, as well as without the assembly, the 
lighted brand was not extinguished, but smoldered 
in secret. 

Prince von Schwarzfels was eager to profit by the 
offered opportunity and to suppress the revolution with 
one bold stroke, and to destroy the hated people’s 
party. More than ever did he urge Count Plarrer, who 
had command of the troops, to act energetically, and 
to meet the mob weapons in hand. 

“Now or never,” said he eagerly, ‘‘the moment has 
come. In your hand lies the salvation of the mon- 
archy, the restoration of the threatened nobility. One 
bold resolve, and we overthrow the revolution.” 

‘‘I certainly detest the revolution as much as you 
do— nor do I fear danger in order to serve my king. 


196 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


But unfortunately I have not, at the present moment, 
sufficient troops with which to undertake a struggle 
with the people. *' 

“It would not be difficult to obtain reinforcements 
from the nearest fortress. Telegraph to the comman- 
dant and ask him for aid, above all for a few cannon. 
In two or three hours two battalions with the neces- 
sary artillery can be here, and then victory will be 
ours. ” 

The prince allayed all the lo3^al count^s fears with 
his eloquence, and the latter finally agreed to ask for 
support. 

With that news the prince repaired to the Duchess 
von Taland’s, where he was impatiently awaited and 
where he was received as the savior of society, as the 
brave antagonist of the revolution. 

“Two hours,” said the prince, looking at his watch, 
“and the victory will be ours.” 

“And his Highness, von Schwarzfels, will be our 
premier. Long live the future Richelieu!” 

As the prince received compliments and flattery in 
the duchess’ salon, in the streets of the town reigned 
that sultriness which usually precedes a storm. Like 
black clouds the revolutionary party gathered together. 

There was, indeed, no time to be lost, for their num- 
bers increased constantly, and their barricades grew 
higher and higher. 

The gay aristocrats in the duchess’ salon were 
gradually rendered ill at ease by the gravity of the 
situation and the delay of the troops. 

The commandant had announced the departure of 
the troops, but the time for their arrival glided by and 
no sign had been given. 

“If,” said the prince, softly, to the duchess, as they 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


197 


Stood by an open window, “the troops do not soon 
arrive, we are lost.” 

“I depend upon Count Harrer’s bravery. He will 
not yield, and would rather die than retreat a step." 

“He would simply sacrifice himself uselessly, with- 
out saving us. I can stand this no longer.” 

' What shall you do?” 

“I shall go to meet the troops, and try to hasten 
their arrival personally.” 

“You dare not risk such danger. How easily might 
you be recognized by the mob and killed.” 

“Do not fear. My noble steed is as swift as the 
wind, and knows that he bears Caesar and his fortune. 
You shall see me soon again at the head of our troops.” 

“Under no circumstances will I suffer you to go 
alone.” 

“Baron von Gallen can accompany me if he wishes 
to share the danger.” 

The duchess tried to .dissuade the prince from his 
purpose, but he scoffed lightly at her fears. 

“He who wishes to win all, must risk all. The 
world belongs to the brave.” 

“You are wrong to be so daring, for you know you 
have innumerable enemies, and that the people are 
incensed against you.” 

“The more enemies, the more honor,” he replied, 
gayly. “The hatred of the mob is a matter of indiffer- 
ence to me, for I despise it.” 

Victoriously he left the room, accompanied by 
Baron von Gallen. 


V 


PRINCE VON SCHWARZFELS’ DEATH 

While the two horsemen reached the nearest gate- 
way unmolested and struck out upon the highroad, 
handsome Henry slipped unseen to Dr. Bergemann’s 
house. The prince’s servant was at the same time 
the agitator’s sp}^ 

The traitor was doubly welcome to Dr. Bergemann, 
for he obtained from him the wished-for solution of 
Livia’s secret, as well as news of the prince. 

"What is it?” he asked his spy. 

"News of the greatest importance, doctor." 

"Let me hear it! As you see, I am in a hurry, and 
can only spare you a few moments.” 

"They intend bringing fresh troops into the town; 
two battalions with artillery are on the way, and may 
arrive at any moment." 

"Is that all?" 

"Until now the aristocrats have awaited reinforce- 
ments, but now my lord and Baron von Gallen have 
ridden to meet them.” 

"How long is it since the prince went?" 

"Scarcely fifteen minutes. He took the road by the 
promenade, which he thinks safer." 

After rewarding the treacherous servant and dis- 
missing him, hedeft his house. 

At the street corner, he beckoned to a suspicious- 
looking man, to whom he whispered several words, 

198 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


199 


whereupon the man disappeared in order to seek out 
the fanatical Rdmisch, who was at the head of an 
armed band. A few moments later, he and his men 
were on the way to the chaussie. 

In the meantime the prince and his companion rode 
along, chatting freely — without the gate all seemed 
peaceful, and offered a strange contrast to the excite- 
ment within. Women sat at their doors with their 
needlework, men read, and children played upon the 
lawns. 

On one balcony only stood a lovely woman, a. cloud 
upon her brow. She alone, in the midst of those 
peaceful surroundings, was ill at ease. 

It was Livia, who had anxiously awaited her hus- 
band. Instead she had received a few hastily penned 
lines, in which he told her of the events of the day, 
that she might not be uneasy at his absence. 

She knew that the decisive moment had come, upon 
which depended the fate of the fatherland, her own 
fate, the triumph or the defeat of her political friends, 
and above all, of her husband. 

Filled with that thought, she glanced toward the 
town. She heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs and rec- 
ognized the prince. At the same time she saw, from 
her vantage-point, a dark form hidden among the trees 
of the highway, and which seemed to be watching 
both horsemen. 

A terrible suspicion possessed her. Hatred and 
love, fear and hope, good and evil spirits, struggled 
in her bosom at that fatal moment. 

She could no longer remain upon the balcony; 
breathlessly she rushed into the street, without know- 
ing what she did or what she wanted. 

Unsuspectingly the prince and BaroR von Gallen 


200 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


rode along, without perceiving their danger, until a 
cry of rage from their pursuers startled them. 

“We are betrayed,” said the prince, turning pale. 
“We have been recognized and followed. But the 
enemy cannot reach us so easily. Spur on your horse, 
baron! Forward! Our lives are in the balance.” 

Torn by the most conflicting emotions, Livia reached 
Romisch’s side; the latter gazed at her in surprise. 

“Livia!” cried he. “What do you want here? This 
is no place for women.” 

“For God’s sake!” she exclaimed. “What are you 
doing? Speak, Romisch, I beseech you, by our friend- 
ship, b}^ all that is sacred to you.” 

“The people," said he gloomily, “have risen in 
order to punish the traitors, to destroy their enemies. 
He cannot escape us.” 

“Of whom are you speaking?” 

“Of Prince von Schwarzfels, who is our strongest 
opponent. The fool wished to ruin us, but he is 
caught in his own toils. His blood be upon his 
head!” 

“Shall you kill him?” cried Livia in so loud a voice 
that she startled 'even the fanatic. 

“No mercy for the guilty. Down with- the aristo- • 
crat, with the oppressor of freedom!” 

“No,no! He shall not, he cannot die! I will and must 
save him, though he may have deserved death a thou- 
sand times,” replied Livia, with sudden determination. 

Her long-cherished resentment had vanished, and 
she felt only the deepest compassion for the guilty 
man. 

The start which the two horsemen had in the mean- 
time obtained, was growing less from minute to 
minute, and no time was to be lost. To throw the 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


201 


pursuers off the track, the prince at a turn in the road, 
left the highway, and dashed into a garden-path be- 
tween high 'hedge trees, so that he really could not be 
seen by them. 

Livia, who saw him disappear, breathed more freely, 
but she did not cease to implore her old teacher to 
call back his men. 

“1 cannot do that,” replied the fanatic, “for the 
prince is bent upon our ruin; but he shall only serve 
us as an example, and I promise you that no harm shall 
befall him. Nor would my embittered people listen 
to me if I tried to detain them. But I will do all I 
can to prevent any act of violence.” 

Full of hope that her friend would keep his word, 
with an anxious and heavy heart she turned toward 
the villa, convinced that she had prevented the dreaded 
catastrophe. 

The prince, fearing to be cut off by the armed mob, 
decided to leave the road, and to seek shelter in a house 
near by, from which he was separated by a high fence. 
Seeing that his horse could not leap it, he and the 
baron alighted, and, tearing down a post, forced an 
entrance. 

“Save us! ” cried the prince to the owner, who has- 
tened up. “Hide us and we will richly reward you.” 

"Who are you?” asked the man, in astonishment. 

"For God’s sake, ask no questions, but help us,” he 
besought. 

In the distance could be heard the yells of the pur- 
suers, who had found traces of horses’ hoofs. But 
before they could reach the house, the owner had hid- 
den the fugitives; the prince in the cellar, the baron 
on the ground-floor. 

Scarcely were they concealed than the mob arrived 


202 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


and demanded the surrender of the hated aristocrats. 
The owner of the house denying all knowledge of 
their whereabouts, they surrounded the house and 
searched it. 

In his dark corner the prince could hear their im- 
precations, their every word. 

A loud yell of triumph informed him that the baron 
had been discovered. The mob then descended to the 
cellar, which was divided into three sections, the last 
of which was filled with empty hogsheads and kegs, 
behind which the prince hid. 

The owner of the house was forced to open the door. 
The cellar was only faintly lighted, as it was twilight, 
and the man succeeded in deceiving the rest into the 
belief that there were only two sections. 

They left the cellar with a volley of oaths, and the 
prince breathed more freely. Taking the baron with 
them, they proceeded to the stable. The sight of two 
horses re-awakened their suspicions. 

They returned to the house to search it once more. 
They repaired to the cellar and discovered the third 
compartment; they demanded the key to the door, 
which the owner claimed had been mislaid. Heedless 
of his protestations, they opened the door forcibly. 
But not a trace of the prince was to be seen. They 
were about to turn away again, when a young man, 
with red hair, perceived the end of his coat between 
the casks. 

The sacrifice was found and dragged forth, in spite 
of his prayers, his promises. 

In the meantime the remainder of the mob, under 
the leadership of Romisch, reached the house. With 
horrible yells the rabble demanded of him the instant 
death of both prisoners. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


203 


"They shall not escape punishment," said the fa- 
natic, remembering his promise to Livia, "but I have 
a proposition to make to you.” 

This the mob objected to, and rushed upon the un- 
fortunate men; but Romisch, accustomed to such 
scenes, would not allow himself to be so easily fright- 
ened, and protected with his own breast both of the 
prisoners. 

"Back!” cried he, in a voice of thunder. "You know 
me and know that I am no traitor, that I hate this 
aristocrat as much and more than you do. ” 

"That is true!” said a man near him. ’’Romisch is 
a thorough democrat, a friend of the people. We will 
listen to him. Hurrah for Romisch.” 

"No, no!” cried the hated prince’s bitter enemies. 

"Yes, yes!” cried Romisch’s adherents. "Be still, 
peace!” 

"I agree with you," said the fanatic, "that the man 
deserves death, and that the people will be right to 
condemn him.” 

"We will make short work of him,” cried the red- 
haired fellow who had first discovered the prince, 
cocking his gun. 

But the fanatic interrupted him, and proposed keep- 
ing the two men as hostages until they had gained the 
victory over their enemies. 

Silently the prince followed his tormentors, for he 
had not given up all hope of being rescued from the 
hands of the revolutionary mob by the troops expected 
by him. Involuntarily he fancied he heard their 
tramp, he lagged behind. 

"Forward!” commanded his guard, poking him in 
the side with his gun. 

That was more than the prince could bear ; his pride 
revolted; he raised his hand to push him back. 


204 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“Die, dog!" cried the bloodthirsty fellow, cocking 
his pistol. 

The prince sought to wrest the weapon from him ; 
in the struggle a shot was fired and the prisoner fell 
wounded to the ground, together with Baron von Galr 
len, whom a second bullet had killed instantaneously. 
Laughing scornfully, the inhuman beings proceeded 
on their way, and left the dying man lying on the road 
where the school candidate, who had just turned 
around, saw him. 

Even the fanatic was touched with compassion at the 
sight of the tragical fate of the once so gay and haughty 
aristocrat as he lay with glazing eyes and set face in 
the light of the setting sun. 

Then could be heard, as if in derision, the trumpets 
of the rescuers, and ba37onets glittered in the sunlight. 

Once more the wounded man raised himself, and a 
convulsive quiver passed over his pallid features. 

“They come,” he murmured, “too late.” 

A deep sigh, then deeper silence. 

The prince was dead. 


VI 


THE SEPARATION 

The news of the unexpected end of the unfortunate 
prince called forth the greatest surprise and horror, ♦ 
when, after the arrival of the troops, peace was restored. 
In the confusion the murderers and Romisch had suc- 
ceeded in making their escape. Dr. Bergemann could 
not be punished, as all proofs against him were lack- 
ing, and no one dared accuse him. 

Great was the duchess’ grief at the loss of her friend, 
whom she mourned as a widow. The Baroness von 
Gallon, too, was inconsolable. 

But Livia was more affected by that tragical end 
than anyone else. Only with difficulty could she con- 
ceal her emotion. She in secret accused herself of be- 
ing his murderess. 

She avoided meeting her husband’s pure glance. At 
such moments she felt compelled to confess all to him, 
but fear of Steiner’s severity restrained her. More than 
all was she rendered anxious by Bergemann’s insulting 
conduct, for he made no secret of his passion. When 
she repulsed him with dignity, he hinted at a knowl- 
edge of her secret, or alluded to her past. 

. So she was forced to suffer his presence, to listen to 
his bold speeches. The more she saw of that social- 
ist, the more she shuddered at the foulness of his 
character. 

At the same time Steiner’s nobility became clear to 

205 




^ o 6 prince and musician 

her. Her esteem for him had with time grown to be 
deep, warm love. Only for a moment had Livia been 
dazzled by Bergemann; she speedily discovered her 
error. Her resistance only provoked still more the de- 
sires of the unscrupulous agitator, who hoped to grat- 
ify his passions through his knowledge of her secret. 
He persecuted Livia with his attentions. 

One day, filled with indignation, she repulsed him 
with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, which only 
• rendered her more desirable to the licentious man. 

With demoniacal ardor he seized the charming wo- 
man, embraced her, covered her face and neck with 
ardent kisses. With an effort she disengaged herself 
from his clasp. He followed her as she fled before 
him to the nearest door. At that moment Steiner un- 
expectedly appeared upon the threshold, having re- 
turned from town. With a loud cry the frightened 
woman fell upon her astonished husband’s breast. 

"Save me, protect me,” she cried, " from your shame- 
less friend, from myself!” 

"What has happened.^*” he asked. 

"Ask your wife," replied Bergemann, with a scornful 
smile, for he did not think her courageous enough to 
confess her own disgrace. 

"Livia, speak, keep nothing from me.” 

"Yes, I will speak,” said she solemnly, "and con- 
fess all to you that I have hitherto concealed. You 
shall be m}^ judge, condemn or acquit me, when you 
know all. Nothing shall any longer restrain me from 
telling you the truth.” 

"Oh!” cried Steiner, "you have deceived me, you 
love Bergemann!” 

"Such suspicion is an insult,” she replied, with a 
bitter smile. "I have not yet sunk so low, although a 
heavy guilt rests upon my conscience.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


207 


Bergemann, irritated by her contempt, said: "I am 
too insignificant an object for the gracious lady’s lov-e, 
much too insignificant, for that I should at least be an 
aristocrat like the Prince von Schwarzfels. ’’ 

“Miserable fellow!" exclaimed Steiner. “Only our 
former friendship keeps me from punishing you as you 
deserve. I know only too well that you are a liar, a 
slanderer, who shrinks from no base act.” 

“Yet I have only spoken the truth.” 

“Livia! I beseech you, say that he has lied and I 
will believe you.” 

“I cannot,” she moaned, burying her face in her 
hands. Deeply moved Steiner gazed at the unhappy 
woman, who read her fate in his eyes. 

“Hear me first," she besought sadly, “before you 
condemn me. I only ask of you what the worst crim- 
inal can ask of his judge. But what I have to say to 
you allows of no other witnesses. Fear not that I will 
deceive you. To you alone do I owe justice; you 
alone shall hear the whole truth from my lips.” 

“Oh!" interpolated Bergemann, ironically, “I feel 
that I am de trop in this domestic scene, and will not 
intrude any longer.” 

A long pause ensued when Bergemann had left the 
room. Neither dared at once interrupt the painful si- 
lence, fearing the next momenf which would determine 
their entire lives. 

“We are alone," said Steiner, after a pause, with 
difficulty. “I am ready to hear your secret.” 

Tt is only too true,” said she, sadly “I loved 
Prince von Schwarzfels before I knew you. I was his 
wife, or rather I thought I was.” 

“Impossible!” cried he. “You are mad or are try- 
ing to deceive me. ” 


2o8 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“I have," said she, sorrowfully, "merited your mis- 
trust, but I swear to you by all that is sacred to me, 
that I was the object of a shameful piece of deception. ” 

She related the story of her marriage and desertion. 
She informed him that she had all the proofs of the 
prince’s guilt in her possession, and could show them 
to him. 

"What kept you from unmasking the deceiver, from 
claiming your rights?" 

"My pride and my weakness; my dread of publicity, 
my care for my reputation, my future, but above all 
my love." 

"For the unworthy prince who deceived you?" 

"My love turned at length to hatred, and that alone 
sustained me. Then I met you — .you became the prop 
upon which I hoped to lean. Only when near you did 
I feel safe from the demons within my breast. You 
offered me your hand; for a long time I hesitated, al- 
though from the first moment I was drawn toward 
you. I struggled with my memories until I submitted 
finally, and committed the wrong of giving myself to 
you. " 

"I believe you," said Steiner, in a milder, sorrowful 
tone, "still I regret your fate and mine. You 5^ourself 
have called down upon us this sorrow, and you are 
nevertheless guilty." 

"I know that I have sinned, but it was from love." 

"Love can only thrive in the light of truth. But you 
have betrayed my confidence, have undermined my 
firm faith in you. You should have told me the en- 
tire truth when I offered you my unsullied name. Your 
weakness I can pardon, your error I can overlook, but 
the lie I can never forgive." 

"Yet I was silent simply because I feared to lose 


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“ Out of respect for ourselves we must part, but not in angrer, 
rather in sadness.” p. 209. 



PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


209 


you, because you seemed to me as a savior. Will 
you be harsher with me than was He who raised the 
repentant woman from ^he ground and said to her: 

‘All your sins are forgiven?’” 

“She was guilty, but she did not deceive the Son of 
God. Truth saved her, as falsehood now destroys you 
and me. Truth alone could have saved and freed you; 
instead of that you involved yourself more deeply in 
the net-work of falsehood, from which no escape is now 
possible. Between us is the bloody shadow of that 
unfortunate man which separates us forever.” 

“And you can, you will repulse me, leave me to my 
fate? Pity and spare me,” besought Livia. 

“Oh! I pity you more than words can express. Could 
you see into my heart, you would find it torn by grief 
and pain. I suffer, probably, more than you do, for 
with my own hand I must destroy my happiness, my 
greatest bliss.” 

“You are too hard with me. What will become of 
me if you leave me?” 

“Though separated from you, my love will follow 
you. It will be to you and me a comfort, a support, a 
light in time of trial. He who once has loved, does not 
cease. But truth demands the sacrifice, for neither 
you nor I can live long with the lie which disturbs our 
peace, poisons our hearts and minds. Out of respect 
for ourselves we must part, but not in anger, rather 
in sadness." 


VII 


A TRUE FRIEND 

The sacrifice was made and Steiner remained alone 
with his sorrow. For not alone had he domestic troub- 
les, the political situation had become very perplexing. 

About that time a powerfully-built man passed 
through the gate of the town, with apparent carelessness, 
by means of which he threw the military guard off the 
scent. The stranger wore blue spectacles which en- 
tirely hid his bright eyes, and made his youthful face 
appear much older than it was in reality. Chin and 
cheeks were covered with a full, dark beard, which, upon 
close examination, would have proved to have been 
false; his hat was pressed down over his brow, and 
prevented all recognition. 

“The Nurnbergers do not hang those whom they 
have not caught,’’ he muttered gayly to himself. 

Carefully he avoided the most frequented streets, 
and made his way to the door of Steiner’s apartments, 
where he knocked lightly. A voice within cried 
“Come in,’’ and the stranger entered the room. 

“Hellwig!’’ cried Steiner, surprised at that unexpect- 
ed visit. 

It was the young student, whom he had reckoned 
among his most intimate friends since the odd meet- 
ing, at the restaurant, of the so-called “Clique,” and 
who, since his marriage with Livia, had been a daily 
visitor at his house; though, since Bergemann’s instal- 

210 


f>RINCE: AND MUSICIAN 


ill 

lation in the family circle, he had absented himself 
without Steiner suspecting the cause. 

“Where do you come from?’’ asked the latter. “And 
why this disguise— such care? ’’ 

“Direct from the gallows,” replied the student with 
the humor of despair; “but, all joking aside, from the 
claws of the reaction, which, as the official expression 
runs, condemns the democratic prisoners to powder 
and shot. ” 

“Did you take part in the unfortunate insurrection?” 

“The struggle is ended,” replied Hellwig seriously. 
“All is over — finis Germania:/" 

“I have more faith in the fatherland. Germany is 
not yet lost .like Poland.” 

“But she is at the point of death, bleeding from every 
wound. As soon as the first heat of battle was over, 
I thought it advisable to make my escape and seek you 
out.” 

“But what can I do for you? I fear you will be no 
safer here; still I am ready to help you as far as lies 
in my power.” 

“I do not want to be a burden to you; I have suffi- 
cient money to take a long journey* upon which, I 
hope, you will accompany- me. ” 

“You are jesting." 

“I am in no mood for jesting. Would I have risked 
danger and sought you out? We have both no time 
to lose, for I know, from a reliable source, that there 
is a warrant out for your arrest.” 

“They will not dare to lay hands upon me, a represen- 
tative of the people. My right, acknowledged even 
by the government, protects me." 

“You know that government no longer acknowledges 
parliament. The king is said to have sworn to spare 


212 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


no member of it who falls into his hands. Will you 
needlessly sacrifice yourself and become a martyr to 
a lost cause?" 

"Our cause," replied Steiner, "is not lost. They 
can kill the body, but not the soul. Our adversaries 
may persecute us, put us in chains, drag us even to 
the scaffold, but they cannot kill the truth with us." 

"I share your hope for the future, but the present 
is without hope, and at this moment no alternative 
remains but to fly danger." 

"No!" cried Steiner, resolutely. "No! Now we 
must show that we are men, ready to defend our con- 
victions with our lives. He who wishes to free the 
people, must be ready to-day, as they were thousands 
of years ago, to bear the cross and to die upon it." 

"Then we will await our fate together," said the 
student with enthusiasm, as he offered Steiner his 
hand. "I will not desert you in the hour of danger; I 
give you my word of honor." 

"I cannot accept such a sacrifice. You are still 
young and are not alone as I am. You have a father, 
a mother, who lovv^ you dearly." 

"And you have a wife, " replied Hellwig hesitatingly. 

At the mention of Livia, Steiner started, but did 
not reply; a sigh escaped him. 

"Leave me," said he, softly, after a painful pause. 
"Return to your parents and hide yourself." 

"And you, doctor?" 

"I shall remain to suffer for freedom and to prove 
the truth to our enemies. " 

Filled with admiration of the hero, Hellwig departed, 
determined to watch over him. 

With his admiration for his esteemed teacher and 
friend was mingled another, not less powerful, senti- 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


213 


ment, which H^illwig scarcely dared confess to him- 
self, the remembrance of Livia, whom he had met and 
learned to know through his intimate relations with 
Steiner. Onl}^ one man did he consider worthy to 
possess such'an intellectual wife, and that man was 
Steiner. To sacrifice himself for him, to risk his life 
for Livia, was all that he desired. 


VIII 


BEFORE THE TRIBUNAL 

The few hours still left to him Steiner spent in 
arranging his affairs, in placing his papers in safe 
hands, and in destroying all letters which might com- 
promise his associates, for he expected his arrest. 

Dawn still found him awake at his writing-table, 
lost in thought, his weary head resting upon his arm. 
Before him hovered once more all the memories and 
experiences of the past, all his broken hopes and il- 
lusions. His happiness was destroyed, his ideals 
shattered; friendship and love had deceived him; the 
people, for whom he had sacrificed so much, had dis- 
appointed him. 

His best friends and associates were scattered ; many 
of the noblest languished in prison or rested in their 
graves, while a similar fate threatened him. 

But still more painful to him was the thought of 
the deserters who, like Bergemann, bought life with 
treason, and went over without shame to the victorious 
camp of the enemy. 

Like an entrancing vision, like a sad, sweet dream, 
flitted before him the image of the unhappy woman 
whom he had loved so deeply, and whom, in spite of 
all her faults, he still loved. With a bleeding heart he 
had separated from her; sadly had he seen her depart^ 
and yet he could not and dared not detain her. So he 
stood alone in the bitter hour of trial, 

214 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


215 


Approaching footsteps aroused him from his gloomy 
thoughts; he suspected that they were those of his 
persecutors. When he looked out of the window he 
saw that the house was surrounded by scldiers and 
policemen, so that flight was no longer to be thought of, 
even if he had cherished such a purpose. 

Calmly and with composure he advanced to meet 
the officer who was commissioned with his arrest. 

“Are you Dr. Steiner?” he asked. 

“I am,” he replied. 

“You must follow me, for you are my prisoner. More- 
over I am ordered to seize all of your papers.” 

“I yield to force,” replied Steiner with dignity, 
“although I protest against my unjustifiable arrest. ” 

After the officers had made the necessary arrange- 
ments, the prisoner was led to the carriage awaiting 
him. Here and there a curious person looked after 
him, a man murmured threats against the law-makers 
and secretly clinched his fist; but the majority remained 
unmoved at the fate of the representative once ad- 
mired so proudly by them. 

Only the trial of the accused re-awoke the interest 
of the people. On the day that the jury assembled 
in order to pronounce sentence on Steiner, the large 
hall and the tribunals were filled. Government had 
left no stone unturned to prove Steiner’s guilt. With 
great care the evidence was collected and such men 
chosen as those upon whose conservative tendencies 
they could depend. 

When Steiner appeared, many a pretty eye glanced 
at him sympathetically, many a soft heart beat louder 
at the thought of his impending fate. But, above all, 
one woman was more moved than the rest; she was 
accompanied by a young man; as she was heavily- 


2i6 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


veiled, she could listen to the case unrecognized amidst 
the throng. 

When the prisoner entered she could scarcely sup- 
press her emotion, her eyes filled with tears, a slight 
cry, fortunately unheard, escaped her. 

“Courage, composure!" whispered the friend, who 
watched her every movement. 

“We will be worthy of Steiner,” she replied as 
softly. “What a man!" 

For the first time since their separation Livia saw 
the prisoner again, after having tried in vain to 
obtain admittance to his prison. 

In her despair Steiner’s young friend was a great 
support. He devoted himself entirely to her, asking 
no reward but to share her sorrow, her pain. Both 
had only one thought in common, to save the prisoner 
and to free him from his prison, although all steps 
toward that end had so far proven fruitless. 

She now awaited anxiously the sentence which would 
decide as to his life or death. 

In his summing up, the unscrupulous statesman, in 
the name of the law, of society, demanded the sentence 
of Steiner as one guilty of high treason, and the pun- 
ishment accorded such a crime — death by the ax! 

A shudder passed through the audience, and a mur- 
mur betrayed their horror. 

The accused alone was unmoved. His blue eyes shone 
with a supernatural light, and his clear brow was sur- 
rounded by the invisible halo of a martyr. He defend- 
ed himself with his wonderful eloquence, with a con- 
vincing power of truth, with the inspiration of freedom. 

His defense was received with a storm of applause. 
The excitement reached its highest pitch when the 
president bade the jury retire. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


217 


The silence of death reigned when they returned to 
the court-room. The eyes of all hung upon the lips 
of the foreman. 

“Guilt}"!’’ said he. 

A loud cry rang through the room. Involuntarily the 
prisoner glanced up at the gallery, where he perceived 
Livia by the side of his young friend. 

A slight tremor betrayed his grief, which was not 
caused by the expected loss of his life, but by his lost 
love. 


IX 


SENTENCED 

Supported by Hellwig, Livia left the court-room. 

"Sentenced!” she muttered. "Steiner sentenced to 
a shameful death, and we must suffer it.” 

"I cannot believe,” comforted her friend against 
his convictions, "that the government will commit 
such an atrocious deed. The king will surely pardon 
him. ” 

"No, no,” cried she bitterly. "I hope for no mercy. 
He will be executed.” 

"The sentence must be confirmed, and that takes 
some time. We will try to bring about his release.” 

"I would give my entire fortune, my life, for such 
an end.” 

In despair, hopelessly, Livia constantly formed new 
plans for his escape. She would visit him in his cell, 
change clothes and places with him. But that plan 
failed her, for the prisoner would not hear of it. 

In vain did she seek advice and aid from their former 
friends; onl}" Hellwig remained true to her. The fa- 
natic, Rdmisch, had been arrested when about to leave 
for America, and tried likewise, principally for his par- 
ticipation in the murder of the Prince von Schwarzfels. 

The Duchess von Taland, who since her lover’s death 
had lived in the strictest retirement, felt it her duty to 
prove to Romisch her gratitude for his attempts to 
save the life of the prince. 

218 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


219 


Through her influence Romisch’ s death sentence was 
revoked to several years’ imprisonment. 

That news filled Livia’s heart with new hope, and 
she determined to seek out the duchess and to beg 
for her assistance with regard to Steiner, although 
such a step seemed humiliating to her. 

Her pride revolted at the thought of begging a fa- 
vor from her former rival; but the thought of Steiner, 
of his sad fate, made her oblivious of herself. 

So the rivals met — united by the hand of fate and 
yet separated — the proud duchess and the wife of the 
representative of the people; the one mourning the loss 
of the prince, the other trembling for the life of her 
beloved husband; both deeply moved, possessed by 
different and yet closely-allied sensations and mem- 
ories. 

"Mme. Steiner,” said the duchess, inviting Livia to 
be seated, “you wished to speak with me.” 

‘My husband’s fate,” she replied, “led me hither, 
your highness, and will excuse me in )"our eyes.” 

“And what can I do for him?” 

“I ask your highness for the same favor you ob- 
tained for Romisch. I ask it for my husband, whose 
innocent head is threatened with the executioner’s 
ax. ” 

“You overrate my influence,” replied the duchess, 
evasively. 

“I know that one word from your highess would 
suffice. Have pity upon me and do not deprive me 
of my last hope.” 

“Though my petition was listened to once, you will 
see that I cannot repeatedly ask favors of his majesty 
without compromising myself by wishing to stay the 
course of justice," 


220 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“It is not justice, but hatred and passion which 
now demand my unfortunate husband’s head. Your " 
highness must listen to me. I have a personal claim 
upon you and am ready to sell the same at the high- 
est price.’’ 

“You are mistaken, madam,’’ replied the duchess. 

“I do not bargain for my favors, like certain ladies.’’ 

"And yet you will listen to me when you have read 
these letters, which I will give to you on that condi- 
tion. ’’ 

Livia handed the duchess a package which she hes- 
itated to accept. 

But one glance at the handwriting drew from her 
involuntarily an exclamation of surprise as she recog- 
nized the prince’s characters. 

“How did you obtain these letters?” asked the 
duchess, visibly agitated. “Did you know Prince von 
Schwarzfels? ” 

“Oh! that I had never seen him!” 

“You were his — ” 

The duchess did not finish the insulting phrase 
which, accompanied by a scornful smile, trembled up- 
on her lips. 

“Before you judge me,” said Livia with dignity, “I 
beg your highness to read these letters. Only the 
direst necessity could have induced me to confide in 
you the deception practiced upon me by the prince.” 

“Do you seek to insult me?” 

“I only wish to justify myself and to spare your 
highness the shame to which you are exposed as long 
as these letters remain in my hands.” 

“I am indeed curious. But before I make any 
promises, I must read the letters. ” 

Hastily the duchess opened the package and glanced 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


221 


through the, letters, which gave her the key to the 
prince’s entire character. 

Respect for herself, her shrewdness and her worldly 
experience, bade her suppress her rising indignation, 
and avoid a public scandal. 

“Well," said she, when she had in some measure 
regained her composure, “I will listen to your pro- 
posal on one condition." 

“Your highness will find me ready to agree to any 
condition consistent with my own and my husband’s 
honor, if you can promise me to save him." 

“In return for my services, I require from you beside 
the relinquishing of these letters to me, the strictest 
silence with regard to this compromising matter.” 

“Your highness may trust me. As soon as Steiner is 
out of danger, the letters will lose all interest for me." 

“Depend upon it, I will save your husband." 

Comforted, Livia left the duchess, who at once or- 
dered that her chapel be closed and that the prince’s 
picture be removed from its place therein. 


X 


IN PRISON 

In the meantime, Steiner awaited his fate with man- 
ly resignation. He had finished with life and awaited 
death with courage and firmness. 

His consolation was in the purity of his convictions, 
in his firm belief in the final victory of freedom and 
truth, for which he was to answer with his life 

He needed not the religious consolation offered him 
by the priest, for Steiner had within himself sufficient 
strength and support. His faith was the faith of all 
enlightened minds, the religion of love, of humanity. 

.While Steiner prepared for death, the Duchess von 
Taland kept her promise, and through her influence 
brought about his pardon, without his suspecting it. 

When one day the barred door of his prison opened 
and the judge entered with a solemn air, Steiner 
thought he had come to tell him of the confirmation of 
his sentence. 

Calmly he rose to receive the news. 

"I am commissioned,” said the judge, after a few 
preliminary remarks, ‘‘to announce to you your par- 
don. ” 

‘‘My pardon!" cried Steiner in surprise. 

‘‘His majesty has deemed it best,” continued the 
judge hesitatingly, as if ashamed of his errand, ‘‘to 
change your sentence of death to one of imprisonment 
for life.” 


222 


Mince and musician ^23 

When Steiner had recovered from his astonishment 
he uttered a cry of indignation. 

"Such a pardon sounds like mockery. Rather a 
thousand times death than such disgrace." 

"I hoped to find you grateful for such a mark of 
clemency. " 

"Grateful to be treated like a common thief, a mur- 
derer!" 

The judge left the unfortunate man alone with his 
sorrow, his despair. 

The next morning Steiner was conducted to his 
prison. A guard and two armed soldiers escorted him 
to the station. Upon the platform waited Livia with 
faithful Hellwig, in order to see Steiner for the last 
time. 

She stood there disconsolately, and gazed at the 
adored man to whom, under all circumstances, she 
seemed to bring misfortune. She could not even bid 
him farewell. 

"Forward!" commanded the guard, and the prisoner 
was forced to enter the coupe where he was fastened in, 
in company with criminals, robbers, thieves and mur- 
derers, while the two soldiers, with their rifles, 
planted themselves on each side of him. 

"Come," said Livia’s companion, "let us go." 

But she heard him not — forcibly Hellwig led her 
away. 

The refreshing air, the motion of the coach, lulled 
Steiner to sleep. In sleep at least he was free and 
happy. So much the more terrible was his awaken- 
ing. 

"March to the prison!" commanded the guard, when 
the prisoners alighted. 

Steiner followed the escort, which turned toward a 
dark building surrounded by high walls. 


224 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


There it stood in the twilight, like an accursed, 
enchanted castle, guarded by evil spirits and demons. 

At a given sign an invisible hand opened the heavy 
door, which closed behind him. 

He was in prison! 

He was led to a certain cell, where he was ordered 
to undress. He was to undergo an examination. He 
could keep nothing of value, and even Livia’s golden 
wedding-circlet was taken fom him. 

“I should like to keep the ring," said Steiner in a 
beseeching tone. 

‘Tt cannot be; it is against orders." 

"Then I should like my wife to have it." 

"The superintendent alone can decide that." 

This painful scene was followed by one not less 
painful. He was ordered to put on the coarse prison 
garb. 

He had no longer a name, but was No. 289. 

His trials were not, however, at an end. 

He was led into the workshop where he saw many of 
his former party-associates. After remaining there for 
some time, he was conducted to the cell which was to 
be his future dwelling. With horror he glanced at the 
narrow walls, the flagged floor, the vaulted ceiling. 

In one corner was a jug of water upon a shelf, and 
against the wall a miserable straw pallet. The whole 
was like a living tomb. From a corner of that cell the 
superintendent took an object which, in his confusion, 
the prisoner did not at once recognize. It was a 
spinning-wheel, which he placed before Steiner. 

"The director sent you this," said he with a grimace, 
"that you may not be idle." 

"But I cannot spin," moaned the unhappy man. 

"You will learn here. You will be taught, and if you 




G^ocL save me from madixess,” murmured Steiner, siukixxgr in despair upon tlie miseralDle 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


225 


do not spin your portion daily, you will speedily make 
the acquaintance of the lash." 

With those words the superintendent vanished and 
left the prisoner alone. 

"God save me from madness!" murmured Steiner, 
sinking in despair upon the miserable pallet. 



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I 


AT COURT 

The revolution had been forcibly suppressed. Again 
the search for pleasure began; the thoughtless multi- 
tude tried to forget the memories of the revolution 
with its bloody horrors. In the highest circles of so- 
ciety, especiall}^, did they seem to seek diversion. 

Grand-duchess Alexandrine’s charming, but small 
Residence, was not behind the larger cities in this. 
The royal family had always been famous for encour- 
aging science and art, poetry and music. 

Among those assembled at that brilliant court was 
the celebrated Norin, who was engaged as musical di- 
rector. He soon felt quite at his ease on that strange 
ground, for the grand-duchess and the youthful heir- 
apparent showed him the greatest favor. 

Above all was Norin interested in the fate of his new 
opera, with which he hoped to found a new epoch in 
the music of the day. 

He himself led the rehearsals, and returned home 
so weary that he had scarcely a glance or a faint smile 
for Ada. 

At first he spent most of the day at the theater and 
behind the scenes, where he soon made the acquaint- 
ance of the singers, both male and female, upon whose 
talent and good-will the success of his work more or 
less depended. Involuntarily he, with time, yielded to 

22d 


230 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


the demoniacal power which that gay world exercises 
over an artist. 

Provided with the title of grand-ducal theatrical 
agent, Giuseppe was once more the virtuoso’s indefa- 
tigable aid-de-camp. 

With sorrow did Ada look back upon the blissful 
hours spent in her happy shelter; on the days of 
companionship with the beloved man whom now she 
scarcely dared to call her own. He was constantly 
excited and irritable. 

The thought saddened her that her love was not 
sufficient to satisfy the talented man, that she shared 
his heart with a dangerous rival, with his art. Then 
too her domesticity was interrupted, for on account of 
his position she was forced to enter society. 

A few days after her arrival, she was presented at 
court. With a heavy heart Ada entered the royal pal- 
ace upon the artist’s arm. 

Old Court-marshal Baron von Lingen and Baroness 
von Frankenstein watched over the dignity of the 
court, and they shuddered to think that Countess Har- 
rer should be received in the royal salon at the wish of 
the hereditary prince. 

The rest of society, too, could scarcely conceal their 
virtuous indignation, although the majority of the ladies 
and gentlemen present could not have stood a very 
severe examination. But the guiltiest condemned the 
most severely, proving the old saying that one can 
see the mote very easily in another’s eyes, but cannot 
see the beam in one’s own. Baroness von Gallen, who 
was present, with glowing cheeks and evident excite- 
ment related to several aristocratic ladies the countess’ 
adventure, adding many poetical exaggerations. 

Under such circumstances it is not to be wondered 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


231 


at that Ada’s and the virtuoso’s appearance caused an 
unusual sensation and laid them open to many insults. 

Wherever they turned, they were met, especially 
Ada, with supercilious or hostile glances. The court- 
marshal forgot his usual scrupulous politeness and 
took scarcely any notice of their presence; the Bar- 
oness von Frankenstein turned her back upon them, 
while Baroness von Gallen stared at Ada through her 
gold lorgnette as if she had never seen her. 

Nowhere did she find a sympathetic glance, a com- 
passionate smile. 

Norin’s presence alone sustained Ada, for she was 
crushed by the burden of the insults offered her. 

“Why did you force me to this?” she asked softly. 

“You know the crown prince expressly desired your 
presence.” 

“To expose me to such insults? What have I done to 
these people? Is not every woman here at least as guilty 
if not guiltier than I?” 

“Let them laugh and mock! The storm will soon 
pass over, if we defy it. Show them that you scorn 
public opinion and it will soon bow before and follow 
you. I wish you had the Duchess von Taland’s strength 
of character. ” 

“Shall the duchess serve as my example? ’ asked 
Ada angrily. 

The painful conversation and still more painful sit- 
uation was interrupted by the entrance of the regent 
and the prince, who greeted those present pleasantly 
and were introduced by the court-marshal to the strange 
guests. 

When Ada’s name was pronounced all eyes were 
turned upon her. They still hoped that the grand- 
duchess would show her disapproval of the prince’s 
bold step. 


232 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

Silence reigned in the large room as Ada ap- 
proached the great lady. If the latter turned from her, 
if she uttered one of those finely-turned but expressive 
sentences, Ada was lost forever. 

Pale and deeply moved Ada awaited her fate. She 
stood alone, feeling her loneliness, her helplessness, 
in the face of her enemies. 

Was it her touching beauty, her attitude which 
seemed to beg for pity, or consideration for the celebrat- 
ed artist, which inclined the grand-duchess’ heart to 
gentleness and sympathy for the guilty woman, but she 
met her with truly princely grace. 

“Countess Harrer, ’’ said she in a loud voice, “you 
are welcome to our court and I hope that you will 
like it here. ” 

At the same time she extended her hand to Ada, 
which the latter pressed to her feverish lips grate- 
fully. 

“An interesting, charming woman,” said the grand- 
duchess to the amazed Baroness von Frankenstein. 
“You must include her in our circle.” 

Like wild-fire the grand-duchess’ words were circu- 
lated through the room and they produced a marvel- 
ous change in public opinion. 

“Count Harrer,” said a young diplomatist, the oracle 
of the court, “is known to be a terrible tyrant, a real 
Blue-beard, who tormented the poor woman to death 
with his jealousy and drove her to despair. And if 
her royal highness, the grand-duchess, gives Countess 
Harrer her hand, it is only a proof that the latter is 
less guilty than the world thinks. ” 

During that discussion, the youthful prince turned to 
the artist. He was of an enthusiastic temperament, 
a lover of art, who, in his leisure hours, amused him- 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


233 


self with musical compositions, if only in an amateurish 
way. 

‘ Dear director,” asked Prince Adalbert, "how are 
you progressing with your rehearsals? If possible, I 
should like to have the first representation of your 
master-piece on my mother’s birthday; I know it 
would afford her the greatest pleasure.” 

“Your highness is too kind. I will do all that I 
can. ” 

“Spare no expense; engage the best singers and 
have the finest scenery. I myself will be present at 
the dress-rehearsal, for I am very much interested in 
your success. For some time I have had a wish which 
I am going to venture to express.” 

“Your highness has only to command me.” 

“No, I dare not, it would be asking too great a sac- 
rifice. You have too much to do as it is.” 

“Your highness can count upon me at any time. It 
would render me extremely happy could I serve you 
in any way.” 

“If that be so, I wish you would count me among 
your pupils.” 

“I shall be proud of such an honor,” said the artist, 
with a low bow. 

“You do not know how happy you have made me. 
In time I hope not only to call you my teacher, but 
my friend, my. guide. I should like, as did my grand- 
father, to build a new temple in my residence, to art 
and the sciences; but above all to divine music, and 
to take up again the work of my great ancestor^. 

“In a few months I shall be of age and shall un- 
dertake the management of things. I propose cele- 
brating the occasion by founding the academy of art 
^o long dreamed of by my mother. I hope to receive 


234 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


from you, my dear Norin, valuable advice and sup- 
port. ” 

"I feel greatly honored by your royal highness’ con- 
fidence and will do my utmost to merit it.” 

The long, confidential conversation between the 
crown prince and the virtuoso did not, of course, pass 
unnoticed; but when the crown prince greeted Count- 
ess Harrer the first, too, of all the ladies present, and 
took his place by her side, even malicious tongues 
were silenced. 


II 


THE CROWN PRINCE 

Almost immediately after his arrival at court, Norin 
opened his salon. It became the style to appear at 
his soirees and even the exclusive aristocracy pressed 
to his musital evenings. 

On one of those evenings the artist proposed rep- 
resenting the finest scene from his master-piece, “Tris- 
tan and Isolde," where the lovers, after the enjoyment 
of the fatal love-potion, are for the first time seized 
with the irresistible power of their passion. 

At Norin’s express wish Ada was persuaded to un- 
dertake the part of Isolde, as the prima-donna was 
indisposed, or, in other words, capricious. In order 
not to destroy the illusion, Ada again donned the 
old German robe which lent 'her a peculiar charm. 

Encouraged by the applause, and still more by No- 
rin’s delighted nods, for he accompanied her upon the 
piano, she that day developed a i^ever before suspect- 
ed artistic talent which carried her audience away. 

Ada was not singing merely, she was living over again 
a portion of her own life, all the bliss and pain of her 
past. 

Entirely lost in her own sensations, she forgot all 
else, she did not observe the impression she involun- 
tarily made. 

With a wave of his hand, the crown prince refused 
335 


236 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


the seat offered him, and remained near the door, list- 
ening with evident admiration to Ada’s singing. 

He awoke as if from a dream when Ada ceased. 

"You have afforded me great pleasure,” said he, as 
he kissed her white hand. 

"Your royal highness flatters me,” said she with 
modest confusion. “I am only an amateur.” 

"That is not possible. I confess to you frankly that 
you moved me to tears,- in a manner which I did not 
deem possible.” 

“The praise is due to the composition alone,” re- 
plied Ada. 

From that evening the prince was one of Norin’s 
stanchest adherents, filled likewise with the idea of 
the musical reform of the opera. By his intimacy 
with the future ruler, Norin gained daily a more im- 
portant position, by which he hoped to profit for the 
development of his artistic thoughts and views. 

In their many conversations on the projected refor- 
mation, the >oung prince coincided with all of Norin’s 
plans, and on one occasion he said to him, offering 
him his hand: 

“I will unite in striving with you for that high aim. 
First of all I must thank you for the pleasure your 
teachings afford me. The future will, I hope, prove 
to you that the pupil is worthy of his master." 


Ill 


A BETROTHAL 

“Do you know the news?” one day asked Fraulein 
von Laufen of her old friend, Herr von Beileritz. 

“What news? Has the marshal resigned or been 
sent off?” 

“Selfish man! You think only of yourself and hope 
to replace the marshal.” 

“Has Baroness von Gallen married the ambassador?” 

“That is not it either. You know the baron ^left a 
will by which his widow, in case of a second marriage, 
must give up two-thirds of her fortune. The ambas- 
sador is not wealthy and she therefore prefers to re- 
main his friend. Moreover, they say she has a weak- 
ness for the musical director.” 

“Therefore her hatred of Countess Harrer. But I 
am still awaiting your interesting news.” 

“Indeed you will be surprised. His royal highness, 
the crown prince, is soon to be betrothed. Can you 
guess to whom?” 

“Who is to be our future queen?” 

“Princess Leontine, the Duchess von Taland’s only 
.daughter. ” 

“Impossible! You are mistaken.” 

“No, I am not. The whole family is inclined to be 
peculiar. I believe the prince is going to follow in his 
grandfather’s footsteps. Just think of his friendship 

237 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


238 

for the musical director. They talk, too, of the build 
ing of a new theater which is to cost several millions, 
and of other undertakings and plans for the future.” 

‘T would not be surprise if some day Norin were to 
be appointed prime minister.” 

"And the countess lady-in-waiting. The prince now 
spends his evenings with her and recentl}^ presented 
her with his portrait.” / 

“But we are wandering from our subject, from the 
betrothal of Princess von Taland. ” 

"You may look upon the affair as settled. As I have 
heard, the duchess will take up her abode in our Resi- 
dence at the old ‘Lindenburg,’ which is already being 
renovated for her. The betrothal is to be announced 
on the grand-duchess’ birthday and to be celebrated 
with great pomp.” 

Soon the entire town knew of the affair, and the 
liberal paper announced it without contradiction on 
the part of the official evening bulletin, which fact 
proved the truth of the statement. 

This much was surely known, the old Lindenburg 
was being renovated, or, rather, remodeled at the 
Duchess von Taland’s expense. 

Upon the stately building seemed to rest a curse; the 
people told the story of a crime which, in days long 
gone by, had been committed there — of the murder by 
one of the grand-ducal family of a more favored rival. 
According to tradition, the ghost of the murdered man 
still walked, and many a sentinel declared he had 
seen it. 

The castle was surrounded by a very fine park. An 
all^e of linden trees formed the chief beauty of the 
garden, and to them the old castle owed its name of 
"Lindenburg. ” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


239 


The interior of the castle was luxuriant and tasteful. 
From day to day the new tenants were expected, for 
the Duchess von Taland was determined to make her 
home in the grand-ducal residence, at the court of her 
royal friend. 

Notwithstanding her painful experiences, the duchess 
plunged more deeply than ever into the social whirl, 
for she seemed to wish to forget the princ.e’s death and 
his infidelity. 

^ Princess Leontine hersqlf was one of the most charm- 
ing of personages; she was of almost ethereal beauty 
and grace. With her dainty form which seemed to 
float rather than walk, with her golden hair which en- 
circled her pure brow like a halo, with her deep blue 
eyes which seemed to reflect the skies, she was the 
embodied image of innocence, purity and kindness of 
heart — a half-open, sweetly scented spring blossom. 

On account of her gentle womanliness, at the first 
glance she impressed the noble grand-duchess, who 
was seeking a wife for her son, soon to come of age. 

The prince did not hesitate to receive from his 
mother’s hands the bride chosen for him, while Prin- 
cess Leontine, in her innocence, considered herself 
fortunate to have formed such a tie. 

Both were young, handsome, amiable, worthy of one 
another in every respect, so that all hoped the ten- 
derest affection would not be lacking. 

Although the entire affair was still treated as a secret, 
the court and the entire Residence knew of it. Ada, 
too, heard the news, and she considered it only right to 
offer her congratulations to the prince, for whom she 
felt a sisterly affection, when he visited her, according 
to his custom, while Norin was busy with the rehearsal 
of his new opera. 


240 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


Gradually the prince had transferred his friendship 
for the artist to Countess Harrer, toward whom he 
felt attracted. With her he laid aside his usual shy- 
ness, his almost girlish embarrassment. 

Soon Ada became his confidant, from whom he had 
no secret, with whom he talked without reserve of 
his future. 

Notwithstanding the fact that they were almost of 
one age, Ada thought herself much older than the 
prince, for she had experienced and suffered more. 

She, on that especial day, received the prince with 
her habitual cordiality, though somewhat more seri- 
ously than usual. 

‘‘1 do not know," said she when the first greetings 
had been exchanged, "if I am committing an indis- 
cretion in congratulating your royal highness on your 
engagement?” 

"So you know it already?" he asked, half-surprised, 
half-abashed. 

"If I have made a mistake, I beg your pardon." 

"No, no! You heard aright! I only wished to have 
the pleasure myself of telling you the news, but I see 
that busy tongues have preceded me. You were to be 
the first to hear of it from my lips, for 1 know, count- 
ess, what an interest you take in my welfare." 

"My congratulations are, however, none the less 
warm. How glad I am that you have found a heart 
which is worthy of yours." 

"You know Princess Leontine?" 

"I saw her as a child and thought her charming. 
Since then she has grown to be a woman, and is 
said, so I hear, to have by far exceeded all hopes and 
expectations. " 

“Oh! she is a very delightful person,” replied the 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


241 

prince absently. “My mother is carried away with her 
grace and beauty. " 

“And you love Princess Leontine and will be happy 
v/ith her, as you deserve to be." 

“I hope so, when we learn to know one another bet- 
ter. To you I may confess that I have only seen the 
princess a few times and have scarcely spoken to her. 
1 like her better than Princess Clotilde, who, as you 
know, was formerly selected for me.’’ 

“My God!" exclaimed the countess involuntarily, 
but without completing her sentence. 

“Why do you not say what you think?" asked the 
prince after a painful pause. “You are my only true 
friend, from whom I can expect to hear the whole 
truth.” 

“Your higjiness does not understand me. Far from 
disapproving of your choice, I think, from all that I 
have heard, that the princess is worthy of you. But 
I wish that you had questioned your heart to find out 
if you really loved Leontine." 

“Can a prince," he replied bitterly, “listen to the 
voice of his heart? Must we not give up a right which 
the meanest of our subjects possesses? From youth 
up we are the slaves of prejudice, of etiquette. And 
now when I am approaching manhood, when I have 
reached the turning point in my life, I cannot choose 
according to the dictates of my heart. My wife must 
be my equal by birth. I cannot question my heart, 
love and mutual inclination cannot decide us; but 
instead, a worn-out book of ancestry, yellow parch- 
ment, documents, appanages, and so forth — oh, it is 
maddening! " 

Impatiently the prince rose and paced the room, 
while Ada sought to calm him with gentle words. 


prince and musician 


^ 4:2 


“I am sorry,” said she, ‘‘that I unconsciously 
wounded 3mur ro3^al highness, but you required the 
entire truth from me, and I could not withhold it. 
Pardon me, if I have unwittingly hurt 3^011. Do not 
be vexed with me for speaking more plainly than was 
perhaps right.’” 

‘‘/ vexed with you!" cried the prince, his eyes sud- 
denly glowing with suppressed tenderness. 

In surprise Ada gazed at him as he took so hast3/ a 
leave of her that she really believed she had either 
wounded or insulted him. 


IV 


BEHIND THE SCENES 

During that time Norin was so deeply interested in 
the approaching production of his work that he entirely 
neglected his other relations. The theater and all that 
was connected with it alone interested him. 

His stay in Paris had taught him much. He appre- 
ciated the power of the press, the importance of pub- 
lic opinion, .the influence of friends, the services of 
the claquerSf and knew he must leave no stone un- 
turned in that direction to insure his object. 

In that opinion he was strengthened by the sly 
Giuseppe, who seemed indispensable. 

"Now," said the energetic agent, "we must show 
what we can do, so they cannot say of us, the nest is 
ready, the bird is dead. I have done that which 
others cannot imitate so easily; but we are not through 
yet. ” 

"You do not doubt the success of my opera?" 

"God forbid! Your -work is a master-piece; but I 
have seen even master-pieces fail through clumsiness 
and intrigues." 

"What do you mean? I know something is on your 
mind. Have I not agreed to all your propositions? 
Have I not yet done enough?" 

"In your position one can do enough but never too 
much. The two critics of the ‘Gazette’ are displeased 
with you because you did not invite them to your 

243 


244 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


soirees. You must make amends for that. The tongue 
has already caused much trouble, but the pen is still 
more dangerous. ” 

“Good; I will invite them the next time. What 
else? ’’ 

“Signora Wilder Romani complains that the count- 
ess has not returned her call.” 

"The claims of that prima-donna grow daily more 
irksome. I cannot force the countess to visit her.” 

“He who seeks gold must stoop and not fear the dirt. 
The lady is the favorite of the public, has a large de- 
pendence in the theater and the Residence, and can 
make great disturbances, if she likes; therefore we must 
regard her caprices. Nothing remains for the countess 
but to eat the sour apple." 

“I will persuade her to go for my sake.” 

“Bravissimo! I like that. He who has understand- 
ing will not lack good fortune. I see that you learned 
something in Paris." 

Norin hastened to carry out the crafty agent’s orders, 
although he was often led to take many a step against 
his better nature. As a father watches, cares, trembles 
for his beloved child, so did ,he watch, care, tremble 
for the success of his work; he shunned no humilia- 
tion, no sacrifice, if by that means he could purchase 
success. 

With all the persuasiveness in his power, he sought 
to induce Ada to visit the prima-donna. 

“That woman,” said she, “is very disagreeable to 
me. Her immeasurable vanity exceeds all bounds. 
Moreover, I wish to have as little as possible to do 
with the theater. For I have, alas, discovered that 
all illusions disappear when we gaze behind the scenes. 
The less we have to do with that world of sham and 
lies, the better for us both.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


245 


“I see,” said Norin, as if he were wounded, “that 
you still harbor the old prejudices and scorn the actor 
on account of his position. You should try to conquer 
such prejudices, especially when such important mat- 
ters are at stake. The poet and composer cannot do 
without the actor and singer, upon whom he is more 
or less dependent.” 

■ “Nevertheless it does not follow that we must asso- 
ciate with them. I do not prevent you from visiting 
Frau Wilmer- Romani, from admiring her perform- 
ances, even from flattering her vanity, although it 
wounds me when you derogate from your dignity. Do 
not be vexed with me, “said Ada gently, “but I cannot 
conceal the fact that of late when together I have made 
such discoveries as rendered me uneasy. I fear that you 
are not able to avoid the temptations which meet the 
artist on his way. It pains me to see you associate 
with people who are so far beneath you, with men 
and women who, according to my opinion, are not 
your equals, like that Giuseppe.” 

“You do not like him because you think that he 
urged me to leave our quiet retreat.” 

“Oh, that is not all. Whenever I see him near you 
he appears to me like an evil spirit.” 

“He is a tool without which I cannot do, and he 
attends to my business which I do not care to trouble 
with. You will do me a favor, if henceforth you treat 
him more pleasantly.” 

“I will try to obey your wish; but, on the other hand, 
I beseech you to excuse me from calling upon the 
prima-donna. ” 

“If you love me, you will make that sacrifice for me. 

“It is impossible.” 

“The Lady Countess,” said he ironically, “will not 


246 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


condescend to the artist even if the success of the opera 
depends upon it.” 

‘‘You wound me,” replied Ada, turning pale. 

‘‘Pardon my violence, but it is necessary for me to 
keep the singer good-natured, for she might ruin my 
opera. ” 

‘‘I will call upon her,” replied she, “if you think it 
absolutel}^ necessary.” 

With one of those rapid changes characteristic of 
the artist, Norin clasped Ada in his arms and thanked 
her warmly for her compliance, while she suppressed 
her tears with difficulty. Her love conquered her op- 
position so that on the same day she paid the hated 
visit to the prima-donna. 

Frau Wilmer-Romani, the public’s favorite, was a 
stately, imposing woman, who, especially in classical 
roles, such as Iphigenia and Olympia, was very suc- 
cessful. Gifted by nature with a fine' voice and un- 
usual talent, she possessed all the means of becoming 
an excellent artist. But lack of education and esthetic 
culture kept her from attaining that highest step. 

Like a goddess in her temple, the prima-donna sat 
in her boudoir, where she received the visits of hef ad- 
mirers. Everywhere could be seen her portraits in va- 
rious positions. Upon the tables and dtageres stood 
vases containing enormous faded bouquets, lay in wild 
disorder scented billet-doux, soiled, torn sheets of 
music, and newspapers with the latest criticisms. The 
prima-donna herself reclined artistically upon a couch 
in the company of old artists and friends of art. 

The conversation carried bn before the entrance of 
the countess, dealt with the topics of the day, gossip, 
stage secrets. 

The announcement of the countess’ name put an 


t 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


247 


end to the conversation, and the gentlemen took their 
leave. 

The prima-donna rose from her divan and received 
Ada with the air of a theatrical princess. 

“I am sorry," said she, "that the countess did not 
hear our conversation. Every one is charmed with 
the new opera and predicts the greatest success." 

"And you," said Ada, thinking of Norin, "will do 
all you can to assure it. You are pleased with your 
part? ” 

"Oh, it shall not fail through me. But I wish that 
in some points Herr Norin would consider the taste 
of the public a little more. The principal thing lies 
in the effect produced. Although the opera on the 
whole is beautiful, I miss that part in my role which 
would cause a furore. The tenor is better provided for 
than I am. As I hear, Herr Liebert claims the oppo- 
site. He is never satisfied. But before I forget it, 
madame can do me a great favor." 

"With all my heart, if it lies in my power.” 

"Madame has, I hear, such a charming coslume for 
the role of Isolde, blue with siWer trimming, over 
which his royal highness, the prince, raves. Will you 
allow me to take the pattern?” 

"If you wish it; but I do not think that the color or 
the cut will be becoming.” 

"What suits you, will suit me," replied the prima- 
donna almost irritably. 

Then, somewhat mollified by the promise of the 
pattern, she proceeded to initiate Ada into the stage 
secrets. 

In vain did Ada seek to escape those confidences 
and to change the subject. Frau Wilmer-Romani 
reveled in retailing the scandal which was not always 


248 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


of the purest in tone, and the countess, in order to 
escape the (to her) disgusting recital, was forced, 
'after a short visit, to take her leave. 

All her illusions had vanished, the veil was torn 
from her e3^es, she could clearl}^ see matters as they 
were behind the scenes. 

But what grieved her the most was the discovery 
that Norin could not avoid contact with such an at- 
mosphere. Nothing pained her more deeply than his 
weaknesses — every humiliation, every step which low- 
ered him from his height, and in her estimation. 

Norin at first scoffed at her anxious fears which she 
did not conceal from him. But when she repeatedl}^ 
reminded him of them, he repudiated the exaggerated 
anxiety for his honor, inwardly so much the more 
wounded, because it had touched the sensitive point in 
his character, and it is known that nothing wounds 
like the truth. 


V 


A FIRST REPRESENTATION 

At length the so-anxiously awaited day arrived — 
and Norin’s opera was to be given. For weeks in 
advance, tickets had been ordered, and the best seats 
reserved for the court and its guests. 

Even the oldest theater-goers could not remember 
having seen a more select assemblage, so much ex- 
citement and expectation. 

On this especial day there reigned over the place 
that solemn, almost religious spirit which once hov- 
ered over the classical stage of ancient Greece. 

Many older inhabitants recalled the earlier days, 
when, under the prince’s grandfather, the theater had 
been a veritable temple of art. 

There, in the parquet, sat the members of that clas- 
sical period, venerable men with gray hair and white, 
stiff cravats, with dignified carriage, the admirers of 
the past and scoffers at the present, the remains cf 
that golden age whose reflection again seemed to hover 
over them. 

"We have not met at the theater for a long time,” 
said one to his neighbor. 

“If I remember aright, not since the last represen- 
tation of Tasso when the old intendant still lived.” 

"Those were fine times and I often think of them with 
sadness,” said another. 

"Things are to be different,” said another. "The 
349 

I 


250 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


prince is very enthusiastic over the classical drama.” 

The conversation was brought to an end by the en- 
trance of the grand-duchess and the prince. 

The attention of the public was principally directed 
toward the grand-ducal box, in which seated thems&lves 
the regent, the heir and their guests, in order to grace 
the production of the new opera with their presence. 
The most interest was, however, centered in \he well- 
known Duchess von Taland and the prince’s future 
bride, who wa^ envied by all the ladies present and 
admired by the gentlemen. 

Ada, who had of course been received at the Lin- 
denburg, was that night too in attendance upon the 
duchess. 

She was forced to listen to the silly chatter of the 
ladies and gentlemen in waiting, to feign the greatest 
indifference, while in secret she trembled for her be- 
loved’s success, and could scarcely look up. 

The prince whispered several encouraging words to 
her as he passed. 

"Courage, courage!” said he softly. "I was at the 
rehearsal, and can promise you the most brilliant suc- 
cess. ” 

Before Ada could thank him, the signal was given 
for the representation to begin. 

The first act was received coldly; critical voices 
were not lacking. 

Princess Leonore, who sat near Ada, with her friend, 
the ambassador, made many slighting remarks which 
could not fail to reach her ear. In the eyes of all she 
thought she could read Norin's and her fate. Only with 
the greatest effort could she succeed in controlling 
herself. 

But the second act raised her hopes and the third 
scored an unprecedented success, 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


251 


Breathlessly the public listened to the singing of 
the tenor and Frau Wilmer-Romani. Never had' they 
done better. 

In the entire house reigned that stillness which is 
more expressive than the loudest applause. Then, 
after a pause, the delight burst forth. 

As the opera proceeded the enthusiasm increased. 

“The victory is ours,” said Norin’s friends proudly. 

The wih^ Giuseppe slipped like an eel through the 
throng in the lobbies and fanned the fire of enthu- 
siasm with his fabulous stories of the origin of the 
opera, and of the sale of the score. 

In the meantime the grand duchess sent a cham- 
berlain to invite the composer to her box, where the 
most gracious reception awaited him on the part of 
the grand-duchess. 

Not less flattering, but more sincere was the prince’s 
greeting to the artist, who, before the eyes of all, 
embraced him. The Duchess von Taland and her 
charming daughter, too, overwhelmed Norin with 
praise. 

The praise of royalty gave the signal to the cour- 
tiers for their ovations. They crowded around him. 

For the first time Ada felt a slight tinge of jealousy 
when she saw Norin surrounded by that swarm of ad- 
mirers from whom he could only disengage himself 
with difficulty in order to hasten to her side. Before 
she could express her feelings to him, he had disap- 
peared, for the bell had rung for the fourth act. 

When the curtain fell, with one accord the audi- 
ence arose from their seats, and from a thousand throats 
rang a unanimous “Hurrah, Norin!” 

In front of the theater was a crowd through which 
the composer walked in triumph, while those present 
bowed their heads before hiip» 


252 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


At his lodgings Ada received him, for she had has- 
tened ^horne before him, and fell upon his breast in 
speechless delight. But only for one short moment 
could they enjoy that pure happiness. 

Nearer and nearer cam*e men’s voices, brighter and 
brighter grew the lights. It was a torch-light proces- 
sion which Norin’s pupils had brought him at Giu- 
seppe’s instigation. 

The torch-bearers were accompanied by a vast throng 
which cried: 

‘‘Long live Norin! Long live art!" until the artist 
appeared at the window and uttered several words of 
thanks. 

Ada’s heart was filled with pride and bliss as all the 
torches were cast into a heap and united in forming 
one bright flame which illumined the artist’s handsome 
face. Then her eyes involuntarily filled with tears which 
she tried to conceal. 

‘‘What ails you?” he asked in surprise. ‘‘Why are 
you weeping?" 

‘‘Ah,” she replied, ‘‘how closely allied are the great- 
est pain and the greatest joy, which have’ no other 
means of expression than b}^ tears. How soon does the 
fleeting glow disappear, like those torches, in the 
dark night. And what remains of it all?" 

‘‘Fame and immortality," replied he, with sparkling 
eyes. 

‘‘And to the woman her love,” whispered Ada, press- 
ing his hand. 


VI 


THE CULPRIT 

While the fortunate artist was celebrating the great- 
est triumphs at the Residence and at court, a pallid 
man, with emaciated cheeks and sunken eyes, sat in 
his solitary cell and spun. 

Once he was a famous scholar, a most prominent 
thinker, a favorite of the people, who greeted him as 
enthusiastically as they did the composer. Wher- 
ever he appeared he was feted and called the “new 
Lessing.” No\y he was convict No. 289, a criminal 
whose sentence of death had been revoked. 

Without, spring came and went, the meadows and 
woods grew green, the birds twittered and sang; but 
the season made no impression upon him, no rose 
delighted him with its perfume, no nightingale with 
her warbling. 

The narrow windows admitted scarcely a ray of 
light, and the air of freedom was denied him. 

At times he felt as if all were a horrible dream, but 
the sight of his narrow cell, the clanging of the keys, 
the monotonous voices of the sentinels recalled him 
to stern reality. 

His eyes fell upon his spinning-wheel which stood 
in the corner. With trembling hands he seized it in 
order -to finish his daily task. 

“Rather death!” he murmured gloomily. 

He thought of his past, of the people, of the friends 

253 


254 


prince and musician 


who seemed to have forgotten him, of the only woman 
he had loved and who had so bitterly deceived him. 

A tear rolled down his pallid cheeks, a deep sigh 
escaped his breast. 

The thread upon the spindle snapped ; he thrust the 
hated wheel aside and sprang up. His brow was 
flushed, his temples throbbed, and his blood coursed 
feverishly through his veins. 

“It is too much!” cried he, wringing his hands. 

He grew dizzy and he no longer knew what he did as 
he seized the bell rope, whereupon a guard entered. 

“What do you want?” asked the latter harshly. 

“I must speak to the superintendent.” 

“You know what punishment awaits you if you annoy 
him for nothing.” 

“I must risk it." 

After a pause the superintendent appeared with his 
stern, official expression. 

“You sent for me,” said he. “If you have anything 
reasonable to say, I will listen to you.” 

“Pardon, doctor,” replied the prisoner. "In the 
name of humanity I beg and implore you to give me 
employment suited to my ability. I feel that the 
spinning-wheel will drive me mad.” 

“You will get used to it,” replied the superintendent. 
“I can make no exception, especially in favor of one 
guilty of high treason.” 

“Is there no hope, no chance for me?” moaned the 
unhappy man. 

“I will in your name appeal to the ministr}^ but I 
tell you beforehand it will be of no avail. Yet you 
need not despair,” he added more kindly, “you have 
it in your power to lighten your burden, if you only 
will. ” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


255 


What can— what shall I do?” 

You have only to confess your guilt, to humbly beg 
for grace and your prayers will be considered and in 
time you may perhaps be pardoned ’ 

“Never!” cried Steiner* “Rather would I suffer thus 
than so deeply degrade myself. ” 

“Then stick to your spinning,” replied the superin- 
tendent mercilessly. “He who does not heed must 
feel.” 

The next morning Steiner had a high fever. 

The doctor, a fair, young man, with a rosy, smiling 
face, prescribed for him, 

“Take this medicine, ” said he kindly, “and try, above 
all, to calm your mind.” 

“Can you cure a sick soul, can you give me a potion 
which will produce oblivion?” 

'That is not my province. For that we have the 
priest, whom I will send to you,” replied the doctor 
without awaiting Steiner’s reply. 

His visir was followed by that of the priest, a tall, 
thin man with ascetic features. Under the mask of 
Christian humility and piety was concealed a burning 
ambition and spiritual pride, combined with impa- 
tience. He did not wish to let the chance escape him 
of converting such a celebrated opponent of theology, 
and he hoped to bring the conversion about more 
readily as he thought Steiner’s mind would be more 
ready to receive his views, he having been weakened by 
his long imprisonment and present illness. “I heard,” 
said he, with simulated kindness, “that 3^011 were ill 
and sorely in need of the comfort which faith in Christ 
can alone bestow. Think of the Savior’s sufferings 
on the cross and you will bear your imposed burden 
lighter. ” 


256 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“I have thought of him and think of him every hour, ’’ 
replied Steiner. “He too was mocked at, scorned and 
crucified because he recognized and taught the truth." 

“That is not the true spirit,” replied the preacher, 
“in which you should think *of the Savior, if he is to 
help you.” 

He then proceeded to lay out before Steiner his 
views, to which he hoped the latter would conform. 
Steiner, seeing that he wished to draw from him a 
confession of guilt, or a betrayal of the truth, replied 
to his words thus: 

“I thank you for your good intentions, but you are 
laboring in vain, if you think to convert me." 

“I do not, however, give up all hope,” replied the 
pastor with affected gentleness, while, secretly filled 
with rage and disappointment, he meditated revenge. 


VII 


PRISON STUDIES 

In the old summer-house in which Livia had once 
lived, sat the sad wife, thinking sorrowfully of the un- 
happy Steiner. All her efforts to lighten his fate had 
been in vain; her repeated requests to be allowed to 
visit him in prison weare refused Dr. Eichler succeeded 
no better; for he had not forgotten his friend, and was, 
with his wife, Livia’s only associate; for the once so 
faithful Hellwig seemed for sometime to have deserted 
her. 

“I cannot blame the man,” said the doctor, “for 
going away, for his own safety was threatened. Fol- 
lowed by the police, he has probably gone to England 
or America. ” 

“He too deserted me," said Livia sadly, "although 
he solemnly swore to risk his life to free Steiner. Is 
there no help for him?” cried she. "I cannot believe 
that such a man should end so pitifully.” 

A burst of tears eased her oppressed heart, while the 
doctor’s wife tried to soothe the disconsolate woman’s 
despair. 

"Oh! let me weep!” said Livia excitedly. "A woman 
has only tears, powerless tears. ” 

"You will make yourself ill,” said the doctor’s wife, 
"and do 3mur husband no good.” 

"What is my life worth? I have but one aim— that is, 
* to save him. For that price I would cheerfully give it 

257 


258 


MlN'Cfi AND MDSfClAJ/ 


up. I only wish to see him once more to beg for for- 
giveness and to die at his feet! Yet I am not worthy 
of such happiness." 

"Poor Livia! You have done heavy penance for your 
sin. I myself was inclined to condemn you until I 
heard the details of that unfortunate affair from you.” 

"And yet I am guilty," said she gloomily. "I, though 
deceived myself, deceived the noblest of men. He 
can no longer love me, because he cannot respect 
me. I saddened his unblemished life, poisoned and 
wounded his noble heart, overwhelmed him with shame 
and misfortune. The hope alone of making amends for 
my sin has kept me up; it disappeared with Hellwig, 
on whom I depended to dare all.” 

"1 cannot yet believe that the brave young man has 
disappeared for good.” 

"You are right,” said the fresh, strong voice of Hell- 
wig, who had entered the room unobserved. "Yes, it is 
I,” he added with a smile, as his astonished friends 
stared at him after he had laid aside his false beard 
and blue spectacles. 

"Thank God!” cried Livia, "you are here again! We 
feared that the police had discovered you and that you 
were obliged to fly from them.” 

"Neither the one nor the other,” said Hellwig, who 
seemed in high glee. 

"Where have you come from?” asked the doctor’s 
wife. 

"You will scarcely believe it and yet it is true. I have 
come direct from the prison.” 

"From the prison!” exclaimed Livia, turning pale 
and covering her face with both hands. 

"Pardon my thoughtlessness,” said the young man. i 
"I did not think of the painful recollections.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


^59 


For heaven’s sake!” interrupted Livia hastily, 
“speak, tell me, did you see Steiner? Do you bring 
us' news of him? ” 

“Unfortunately,” replied Hellwig hesitatingly, “it was 
impossible for me to see him, for he is watched very 
closely, and no one, as you know, can speak to him. 
But I succeeded in obtaining some information.” 

“What did you hear of him?” 

“That he was ill a few days, but is now convalesc- 
ing.” 

“Ill in prison," moaned Livia, “and I cannot be 
with him.” 

“Calm yourself! That illness was Steiner’s good- 
fortune; it obtained for him some relaxation, the per- 
mission to spend several hours in the open air, and 
freedom from heavy work. ” 

“How did you succeed in finding this out without 
exciting suspicion?” asked the doctor. 

“Fate was favorable to me. As you know I have 
for some time thought of attempting to rescue our 
friend. So, above all things, it was requisite that I 
should be familiar with the locality and especially 
with the prison itself. The undertaking had its diffi- 
culties, for no stranger is admitted within the prison 
walls. Notwithstanding that, I was determined to 
make the venture and told you nothing of my proposed 
journey. I stopped with an innkeeper who is a coun- 
tryman of mine, and in whom I could confide without 
danger. He sympathized warmly with my plans. He 
promised to help me and kept his word. As many of 
the prison employes, outside of their hours of duty, 
visit his tavern, he introduced me to j:hem as an old 
friend, under an assumed name. 

“In the course of conversation, after several glasses 


26 o 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


of beer, for which of course I paid, I expressed a desire 
incidentally to see the interior of a prison. My new 
friends promised to gratify my desire, ^nd themselves 
showed me through the entire building. 

"As we went through, I said I should like to see the 
famous representative of the people; but my compan- 
ion’s genial face clouded over and he pleaded as his 
excuse that he would lose his office did he fulfill my 
wishes. But I obtained from him at least the number 
and location of his cell, which, has two doors, one of 
wood and one of iron, each of which requires two 
keys. ” 

"It is impossible to overcome those difficulties," 
sighed Livia. "Tyranny holds her booty fast. Only a 
miracle can release the poor creatures. " 

"I do not give up all hope,” replied Hellwig, "al- 
though I do not underrate the difficulty. For the exe- 
cution of my plan a large sum is necessary to meet the 
requisite preparations.” 

"My entire fortune,” said Livia, "is at your com- 
mand. ” 

"And if that is not sufficient,” said the doctor, "you 
can count upon me. But above all I must warn you to 
be prudent. I fear you might be easily betrayed.” 

"Make yourself easy. I know what is at stakfe and 
am not so reckless as you think.” 

"What shall you do next?” 

"First of all, I succeeded in forming an important 
alliance with Steiner’s guard, whom I likewise met at 
my compatriot’s tavern. A bottle of wine rendered 
him loquacious and I found him disposed to further a 
correspondence with the prisoner, although he ran 
the risk of being dismissed if discovered. More, I 
could and would not ask the first time.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


261 


"At any rate, I owe you many thanks,” said Livia, 
offering her hand to the faithful Hellwig. 

"Thank me when I have freed Steiner. I do not 
doubt that I shall succeed if I obtain the wished-for 
support on all sides.” 

"You may reckon upon me,” returned Livia. "No 
sacrifice will be too great for me in order to free the 
noble martyr from his bonds. But I tremble at the 
dangers you arc undertaking for our sakes. ” 

"Fear nothing. He who ventures wins, and heaven 
helps the courageous.” 

The doctor recommended prudence, and Livia be- 
sought him to think of himself. With happy con- 
fidence and the courage of youth, Hellwig silenced 
their anxieties, and encouraged their hopes, so that 
the}" left the management of affairs entirely to him. 

"I shall free Steiner or share his fate,” said the 
brave youth, extending his hands to his friends at 
parting. 


VIII 


UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS ® 

Favored by fortune Hellwig had escaped recognition, 
had passed to and fro from the Residence to the for- 
tress. Gradually he succeeded in gaining the entire 
confidence of Steiner’s guard and in forming, with his 
aid, the necessary ties. A letter conveyed by him to 
Steiner, informed the latter of his friend’s plans. 

Like a message from heaven did that unexpected 
news reach him in the midst of his despondency. 

The martyr’s patience was exhausted, and although 
at first he had thought of flight as unworthy of him, 
he now considered himself thoroughly justified in tak- 
ing advantage of every opportunity to escape the bru- 
tal treatment of his opponents. He could scarcely be- 
lieve his ears when his usually so stern guard brought 
him a verbal message from Hellwig. At first he 
thought it merely a trap, and maintained his reserve. 

But soon he was convinced of the sincerity and sym- 
pathy of his guard, who,- beneath his austere exterior, 
possessed a humane heart. 

"Pardon me, dear Hollman!" said Steiner. "But 
you will find my mistrust only natural. How could I 
suspect that you meant well toward me?" 

"I have given your friend my word, and what I once 
promise to do, I shall do, were it to cost me my serv- 
ice and my freedom. I can no longer see such a cel- 
ebrated man as you are in prison, You only said what 

263 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


263 


others hide from fear. Since I have read your speeches, 

I know that you are innocent, that you meant well, 
and I scorn your oppressing enemies with my entire 
heart. Therefore I .have decided to help 3^ou, even 
were I to lose my position.” 

“If I am not mistaken, you are the father of a family. 
You must not be made unhappy through me." 

‘T have a good wife and dear children, for whom I 
must care. Only for that reason I did accept the doc- 
tor’s wife’s offer, which she made to me through Herr 
Hellwig. ” 

"Of whom are you speaking?” asked Steiner in sur- 
prise. 

"Of your wife. She has promised in case I lose 
my position to pay me a yearly salary of three hun- 
dred dollars and to care for my family." 

"Livia did that!” cried the prisoner with emotion. 

"Had I not a wife and children,” replied the guard, 
"I would not have accepted it, but that I owe to my 
family. You will therefore not think less of me than 
you did before.” 

"Certainly not. I know that you are an honorable 
man, that money does not dazzle you.” 

"I almost regret that I agreed to it, but you can 
surely appreciate my situation. This matter will not 
proceed without danger, that I need not assure you 
of.” 

"Therefore I must consider if I can accept such a 
sacrifice from you and my friends.” 

"You may be quite easy. The matter looks worse 
than it is. With your friends’ aid, if you are only 
brave, we shall succeed. Shall I take a message to 
your wife?” 

"Tell her— but no! with your assistance I shall soon 
see her be able tg thank her myself. ” 


• 264 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

“As you wish; I only thought a word from you 
would please her.” 

“I wik write to her,” replied Steiner, evasively. 

“That is right, and when the letter is finished give 
it to me; I will deliver it promptly.” 

When the guard had left him, Steiner thought of 
Livia. Touched by her generous self-sacrifice, by her 
fidelity, he hesitated as to accepting it. The wound 
was still too fresh for a reconciliation. He could not 
yet pardon her for not confessing the entire truth to 
him. Between him and her stood Prince von Schwarz- 
fels’ bloody shadow. 

But involuntarily he felt compassionate toward the 
unhappy woman; he bemoaned her and his fate, which 
was so closely united and yet separated them. 

In prison he had learned patience and forbearance, 
however. He now saw how nearly virtue bordered on 
vice. 

The more he pondered over it, the more he excused 
Livia’s conduct. Unconsciously arose within his 
breast the love, which under the guise of compassion, 
tempered his severity. 

So his mind wavered between inclination and con- 
viction, between condemnation and pardon, between 
gentleness and austerity, incessantly. 

In the meantime, Hellwig, with the co-operation of 
Hollman, made the necessary preparations for his es- 
cape; According to Hellwig’s plan, the guard was to 
gain possession of the keys to Steiner’s cell. A second 
guard, who watched at night, was bribed so that no 
hindrance was to be feared from him. 

At the appointed time, the doctor was to be in the 
vicinity of the prison with his carriage, while his servant 
was to be at the next station with fresh horses, and. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 265 

under the pretext of a pressing journey, relays were to 
be ordered from post to post. 

All was arranged and Steiner warned to hold him- 
self in readiness. With increasing impatience he 
awaited the longed-for moment which was to restore 
to him his freedom. 

Nine o’clock on a dark December night was chosen 
for the accomplishment of the bold undertaking. On 
the stroke of seven the superintendent entered Stein- 
er’s cell to see that all was right and to take away the 
lamp. Scarcely had he disappeared than the prisoner 
rose from his pallet, and hastily dressed himself in the 
darkness. 

From minute to minute Steiner awaited his rescuer’s 
arrival. Nine o’clock had already struck and Hollman 
had not yet appeared. 

He listened breathlessly for his footsteps. Now 
Steiner started up; he thought he heard approaching 
footsteps which sounded like celestial music in his ears. 
It was the patrol passing beneath his window to the 
fortress walls. 

The clock struck ten and every stroke resounded in 
the prisoner’s breast. Time *flew by; a moment seemed 
to him an eternity. His hope fled, and he began to 
doubt the success of the enterprise. 

He tried to account for the guard’s absence. 

“His courage probably failed him at the eleventh 
hour. I cannot blame him, for he has a family. 

Eleven o’clock! Steiner shuddered. It could not 
be so late, he must have made a mistake. 

Suddenly treason occurred to him. His mental 
strength was weakened, his physical powers exhaust- 
ed, he sank upon the hard boards of his cell. 

“Buried alive!" cried he repeatedly. 


266 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


His consciousness left him and for a short period at 
least his terrible torture was ended. 

At the usual time his guard entered. Steiner awoke 
from his feverish, horrible dream. 

“You have deceived me,” cried he, “you have made 
me more wretched than ever, for you have robbed me 
of faith in man.” 

"I am innocent,” replied the guard. “An unlucky 
accident frustrated my plans. Listen to me and 1 
will tell you what happened. You know that I was 
to obtain the keys, which are kept in a certain room. 
With the help of a skeleton key, which Herr Hellwig 
made from a wax impression, I succeeded in opening 
the door. I thought all was satisfactory, when, to my 
astonishment, I found that the keys to your cell were 
gone. I sought, alas, in vain; for the police inspector, 
as a special precaution, had taken them home with 
him. ” 

“Why did you not inform me at once?” asked Steiner 
suspiciously. 

“Because 1 feared to arouse suspicion by a visit to 
your cell. As you know, there is a system of espion- 
age practiced here, which embraces not only the pris- 
oners but the guards. Under those circumstances I 
had to be content with giving Herr Hellwig a sign 
through my colleague at the gate, and Herr Hellwig 
informed your friends. So, you see, I could not act 
otherwise. “ 

"Can 3 "ou pardon me for having doubted you for a 
moment? " 

“My God, that is only natural. But you must not 
lose courage,” comforted the guard. “Your friends and 
I have not given up our plans. Trust in us and in 
that Helper in time of need who deserts no brave man.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


267 


So the good man comforted the unfortunate one 
until he gathered new hope, although the day of his 
release was postponed indefinitely. 


I 


IX 


FREE 

After the first unsuccessful attempt, the plans of 
flight were changed and a postponement was neces- 
sary, for Hollman’s colleague could no longer be de- 
pended upon. Hellwig urged speed for fear of treason, 
for the whole matter embraced too many confidants. 

“We must' not hesitate, for danger increases daily. 
I see no possibility,” said the guard, “of freeing the 
prisoner by the means devised. No choice remains 
but to let the doctor out of the window with a rope, 
which certainly requires a great amount of courage.” 

“I do not think Steiner lacks courage.” 

“Then have the carriage ready the next few days.” 

“The sooner, the better. My heart tells me that 
this time we shall succeed.” 

“God grant ft! The matter has its difficulties. First 
I must obtain the keys. I do not think the chief of the 
police will again take them home, for I hinted to him of 
the responsibility if a fire should break out.” 

“That was a lucky thought. The possession of the 
keys is a great deal, but not all.” 

“When I once have Steiner out of his cell, it will 
not be difficult. ” 

“I will be on hand at the appointed time, and will 
give our friend the signal to have relays.’” 

“And I will speak with the doctor and prepare him. ” 
268 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 269 

Steiner shrank from no danger in order to free him- 
self from the unworthy bonds of his prison. 

“I am ready to risk all for freedom,” said he. 

Darkness enveloped the prison; only with the aid of 
a dark-lantern, which the guard carried, was it possi- 
ble to find the way which led them through the work- 
room. 

Hastily the fugitives passed on, through the open 
door, to the loft in which was kept the store of wool 
and flax. 

Here they found no obstacle until they reached the 
hole in the roof where they came upon a locked wood- 
en gate which separated the store-room from the other 
rooms. Hollman had not thought of it and uttered an 
oath. 

“Perhaps the lock can be broken.” 

“I do not think so, but I will try." 

The guard drew his sword, which he wore at his 
side, but the bolt would not stir an inch. 

“Nothing remains," said 'Hollman in despair, “but 
to turn back. The next time we will look ahead bet- 
ter. " 

“No, no!" cried Steiner resolutely. “J will not turn 
back, I had rather die on the spot.” 

Like a madman he shook the gate. But in vain! It 
defied his rage and despair. 

“Wait!" said the guard. “I think an ax must be 
on the floor. I will seek it and break in the wooden 
gate.” 

“But they will hear the noise.” 

“There is no other way left. I will look for the ax." 

Hollman found it quicker than he thought he would. 
He struck blow after blow. Every stroke might have 
awakened the superintendent, but fortunately he 'slept 
the sleep of the just. 


i>rinc£ and musician 


270 

Bathed in perspiration, the two men reached the 
hole in the roof, to which Hollman fastened a rope. 
At the same time he lowered a stone on the end of a 
piece of twine to warn Hellwig who was waiting below. 
A strong tug at the rope informed the fugitive that 
he was at his post. 

“Why do you still hesitate?” asked Steiner, as if 
intoxicated by the fresh air which streamed in through 
the open window. 

"We must wait a moment until the watch has been 
changed. It will soon strike twelve.” 

In a few moments he added: 

“All is over happily. They passed without noticing 
anything. Courage, doctor! I will hold the rope and 
will not let go until you are down.” 

“What will become of you when they discover my 
flight to-morrow?” 

“It is too late to think of that now. Forward, in 
heaven’s name, forward — ” 

“How can I reward you for such a sacrifice?" 

“You will make me angry yet. Give me your hand 
and do not think of me further. Nothing much can 
happen to me; at the most, six months’ imprisonment, 
and that I would gladly bear for you.” 

“My noble rescuer,, my friend,” cried Steiner with 
emotion, shaking hands with Hollman. Then he 
swung himself through the roof and seized the rope 
feverishly. 

The night was dark and favored his escape. 

For one moment he thought of the danger to which 
he was exposed, and with both hands he clung to the 
slender rope. 

Greater and greater grew the space which separated 
him from prison and brought him nearer freedom. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


;27I 

He continued on his way, though his brain occa- 
sionally whirled. 

At his feet lay the houses of the town. He closed his 
eyes, his heart beat loudly in his breast. Alread}^ he 
thought he saw his friend’s form, the outlines of the 
carriage awaiting him. 

In his hands he already held the end of the rope. 

He was only a short distance from terra firma. He 
had to leap it at the peril of his life. 

Unharmed he fell into his faithful friend’s open 
arms, and was pressed closely to his breast. 

Only when seated in the carriage, did they find 
words in which to express their mutual delight. 

“Whither shall you take me?” Steiner asked his 
young friend. 

“Over the sea to England. 1 will accompany you.” 

“And our friends?” 

“They are awaiting you at the nearest station.” 

Steiner felt as if he were dreaming; the entire world 
seemed as new to him as if he had never seen it before.* 
With deep breaths he inhaled the invigorating air, 
which strengthened and animated him, for he had been 
deprived of it so long. 

Involuntarily his tears flowed, he burst into an hys- 
terical fit of sobbing, overcome by pain and pleasure, 
by old sorrows and new joys. 

“Compose yourself,” said his friend. “We shall soon 
reach the next station. You must control in order not 
to betray yourself. It will be necessary, too, for you 
to change your prison garb.” 

Hellwig had provided everything; in the carriage 
was a new suit of clothes and costly furs, the gift of 
a friend. In a trice Steiner had donned them. 

“I have put on a new man,” said he gayly. “But 


272 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


before all I wish to know to whom I owe this elegant 
dress in which I seem to myself like a king." 

“To whom but to your wife, who has provided the 
money for everything." 

“Livia!" cried he in surprise, while a shadow clouded 
his brow. 

It was the first time that he had mentioned her 
name upon the way. Evidently he was struggling with 
the old painful memories. A long pause ensued which 
neither dared to break. 

In the fugitive’s heart sunshine struggled with 
clouds. 

Soon the ether grew brighter, the sorely tried 
man’s breast lighter. The mist Jell, the dark shadows 
disappeared and the sun shone forth. 

“Day is breaking, a new dawn," said Steiner 
thoughtfully. 

“The dawn of freedom," replied Hellwig, inspired. 

“Of friendship, of love, which saved me," added the 
fugitive. 

Again he sank into a deep reverie. 

A few moments later the carriage stopped at the 
first station, where his friends awaited him. 

Among them was a pale, handsome woman who 
held toward him tearfully her emaciated hand. 

“Livia! " 

Not another word was spoken — only her tearful eyes 
pleaded, only his glance told her that he pardoned. 
Could — dared he repulse her? 

With a cry of joy she fell upon the breast of her 
adored husband, never to leave him again. 


BOOK VI 



I 


I 


DISCORD. 

For several days the Residence had been very gay. 

The coming of age and assumption of power of the 
young prince had been celebrated by the court with 
fetes, illuminations and fireworks. In addition, too, 
came the public betrothal of charming Princess Leon- 
tine, to completely inspire the loyal population. 

After the celebration many honors were conferred. 
Among those favored was Norin, who received the 
title of baron. 

The young grand-duke himself bestowed upon him 
that new proof of his favor in the most cordial man- 
ner, giving him at the same time his coat-of-arms, a 
lyre with a crown above it. Norin becam.e the ac- 
knowledged favorite of the reigning duke, whose full 
confidence he seemed to enjoy. 

The courtiers secretly believed that Norin would 
become minister before a year had passed, and that the 
Duchess von T^land in time hoped to gain the entire 
dominion, which she would share with Herr Norin. 

Those reports reached Ada’s ears, for there was no 
lack of bus57^ tongues at the Residence ready to spread 
the piquant news. Among the busiest of the scandal- 
mongers was Baroness von Gallon. 

Though Ada was not inclined to attach much im- 
portance to simple court gossip, she could not conceal 
from herself the fact that Norin was entirely changed. 

275 


276 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


With secret sadness she gradually became aware of 
his insatiable vanity, his irritability, and his unrelia- 
bleness. Still she would not believe in his guilt, 
though she was in no way blind to his failings. 

The duchess seemed to her like an evil fairy in an 
old story-book, like a Circe or an Armida in the en- 
chanted “Lindenburg. ” * 

Ada was firmly resolved to withdraw Norin from the 
influence of the intriguing woman, to strive with the 
seductive siren for her beloved’s heart, although she 
did not underrate the power of her adversary. 

Filled with such thoughts, 'she, on this especial day, 
awaited Norin in her apartments where he usually 
took tea in her company. 

'T must ask to be excused if I leave you somewhat 
early,” said he upon entering. 

"And I was so delighted with the prospect of my 
evening, because we are now so rarely alone.” 

"Unfortunately I have pledged my word.” 

"As far as I know the grand duchess’ receptions are 
held only on Mondays and Thursdays. Is there to be 
a change to-day?” 

"No, but the Duchess Von Taland, whom I acci- 
dentally met, gave me a personal invitation.” 

"And you accepted?” 

"I am sorry to leave you alone, but it was impos- 
sible to refuse her.” 

"What if I insist upon your remaining here?” 

"I rely upon your usual indulgence.” 

"This time you have miscalculated,” replied Ada, 
with a forced smile. "My older claim supersedes hers. 
You must yield to fate and give me this evening.” 

“You must surely be jesting, for the duchess expects 
me. She will be vexed with me, and I certainly see 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


277 


no reason why I should make an enemy of the influen- 
tial woman to whom I owe so much. By remaining 
away I should insult her.” 

“You do not need her patronage, for your position 
is assured. An artist of your fame should try to main- 
tain his independence. You know what I think on 
this point. ” 

“If I were to listen to you,” replied Norin, some- 
what angrily, ‘‘I should withdraw entirely from the 
world and. live with you upon a solitary island. That 
will do in novels, but life has other claims on us.” 

“And yet there was such a time. In solitude you 
created your magnificent work; while social life, as you 
yourself complain, prevents 3 ^ou from working.” 

‘‘Nevertheless the artist requires diversion. The 
duchess is, you must acknowledge, not only one of the 
most charming, but one of the most powerful women 
I know. In her salon the finest tone reigns.” 

"If not the finest, at least the freest; therefore do 
the men feel more drawn thither than the women.” 

"You judge ver}^ severely.” 

“But not unjustly. I look upon her as a dangerous 
coquette; so much the more dangerous, the more in- 
telligence she possesses.” 

"If anyone could hear you, they would think you 
were jealous. .1 should not have thought you capable 
of such nonsense.” 

"I am not jealous, but I am disgusted with her fri- 
volity. A year has not gone by, and she has already 
forgotten the Prince von Schwarzfels, as if he had 
never existed.” 

“You know how he deceived her. Can anyone blame 
her for seeking diversion?” 

“Any other worpan in her position^ after such aii e?^- 


27S 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


perience would have hesitated to love again; so much 
the more because she is a mother. ” 

“Such a reproach cannot be made against the duch- 
ess, who loves her daughter devotedly, and who has 
made great sacrifices of her fortune and property for 
her.’’ 

“By means of which she hopes to gain influence as 
mother-in-law of the young duke. She already, in 
spirit, sees herself future regent of the land.’’ 

“So much the more reason have 1 to seek her friend- 
ship.” 

“In reality, to fly from her; for the schemer, I fear, 
is trying to envelop you in her diplomatic intrigues. 
I believe the court atmosphere has infected you and 
will destroy the artist within you.” 

“You may make yourself quite easy,” replied Norin, 
smiling. “Goethe was minister at Weimar without 
ceasing to be a poet. If I understand 3 "ou aright, you 
desire me to give up my present position, to sacrifice 
all my opinions, to leave the Residence, and to live 
with* you in a hut,” replied Norin mockingly. 

“I only wish you to avoid the duchess’ society' and 
to remain with me this evening.” 

“Impossible. I have given my word,” replied No- 
rin, taking up his hat. 

“You leave me when I ask you not to !” said Ada, with 
tears in her e^^es. 

“You cannot ask me to }deld to your caprices. It 
may be better for us both if I go now. Until we meet 
again! ” 

Ada was too proud to restrain him. 

No word, no sign betrayed her pain. Only after he 
had left her, did she allow her tears to flow freely. 


II 


AT THE LINDENBURG 

Far in the distance could be seen the brightly light- 
ed windows of the Lindenburg, toward which Norin 
bent his footsteps, drawn thither by the secret power 
which the Duchess von Taland exercised over him. 

After having drained the cup of love, he tried to 
grasp the artist’s laurel wreath. But no sooner did the 
quickly-won crown deck his brow than his ambition 
stretched forth its arm for the golden diadem of govern- 
ment. With each new success his desires increased. 

In such a mood he met the Duchess von Taland, 
with whom he formed a connection. 

With her shrewd powers of perception she at once 
acknowledged Norin’s importance; he possessed the 
full confidence of the grand-duke, as well as the sym- 
pathies of the romantic king, and could serve her on 
both sides. At the same time the experienced woman 
thought him calculated to take the place of Prince von 
Schwarzfels, not only in politics, but in the field of 
love. 

At the Lindenburg Norin found what he had hither- 
to missed in his surroundings — the greatest luxury, 
princely wealth, freedom of intercourse, the perfume 
of the aristocratic world, elegance and taste. 

At the sight of those brilliant rooms the shadow up- 
on his brow, caused by his conversation with Ada, 
disappeared. 


27 ? 


28 o 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


The guests who were in the habit of assembling 
there formed the intellectual court of the duchess, 
who united within herself not only aristocracy of birth, 
but, above all, aristocracy of talent. 

For everyone the great dame had a pleasant word, 
a charming smile, so that she delighted everyone. 
With her most fascinating manner she received Norin, 
while at the same time she chid him for his late arri- 
val. 

“As your punishment,’’ said the duchess, “you shall 
take me to the table. The supper has been waiting, 
and had you come a moment later my cook would prob- 
ably have committed suicide.’’ 

“You must pardon me, but it was impossible to 
come sooner. Ada has been ill for some time, and I 
must humor her condition.’’ 

“Poor woman! Or, rather, poor man!” 

“You can jest about it!” 

“If you wish I will pity you, but above all I should 
like to restore your lost gayety. Away with gloomy 
thoughts! I allow no clouded faces in my kingdom.” 

Indeed, the duchess, during supper, was very inter- 
esting, and it was no difficult matter for her to scatter 
the last traces of his melancholy. She now flattered 
his vanity, now aroused his ambition, by, with appar- 
ent carelessness, unfolding the most tempting plans 
for the future. 

It did not require the wine to intoxicate him. His 
surroundings, the glitter and elegance, even the num- 
ber of ’servants in their rich liveries, the feeling of 
luxury, helped to heighten Norin’s mood, and to excite 
his fanc}^ 

Through the open doors of the dining-room, he could 
look upon the adjoining garden with its white marble 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


281 


statues and silver springs whose gentle murmur min- 
gled with the conversation. 

"It reminds me,” said Norin, "of Cleopatra’s feast 
when she received the unfortunate Anthony.” 

What a strange idea!” replied the duchess. "A 
Cleopatra in our prosaic times is an impossibility.” 

"And yet I know a woman who can compete with 
the queen of Egypt.” 

"Be still! If anyone were^ to hear you they would 
take you for a flatterer and me for a simpleton. Gifted 
women are rarer than gifted men. Only a Caesar finds 
a Cleopatra.” 

"Enviable Caesar! He could offer his beloved a 
world! ” 

"And she could share her kingdom with him.” 

"How insignificant, on the other hand, are our rela- 
tions. ” 

"It is not the relations, but the people. I know very 
few who have the courage to be happy. We are very 
virtuous, but horribly tiresome.” 

"Very true!” replied Norin. "We are the slaves of 
our surroundings and drag about with us the chains of 
custom and of prejudice.” 

"Freedom alone makes life beautiful; freedom alone 
produces true love. " 

"Who is free upon this earth?” asked Norin. 

"He is free who has the courage to be so and who 
scorns the world’s opinion.” 

A peculiar smile about her lips, a sparkle in her 
bright eyes, betrayed to Norin the secret thoughts of 
the duchess, which found an echo in his mind. 

As soon as supper was ended and they had risen 
from the board, the majority of the gentlemen took 
their Jeave^ only a few intimate friends remaining. 


282 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


Norin, too, wished to withdraw in order to return to 
Ada who, he knew, expected him. 

“What, would you leave me so soon?” asked the 
duchess. “I think the custom abominable that every- 
one leaves directly after a meal instead of remaining, 
as if one’s mouth were only for the purpose of eating, 
one’s tongue for the purpose of tasting Lafitte or 
Chambertin, not for conversing.” 

“I agree with you. The custom is unpardonable, 
and is owing, I believe, principally to the cigar.” 

“The poor cigar,” replied the duchess mockingly. 
"It is surely not fit for the salon; we will go into the 
garden if the gentlemen will follow me. Coffee can 
be served in the pavilion. ” 

With those words the duchess took Norin’s arm and 
he was forced to lead her into the garden. In the si- 
lent paths he walked beside her as if in a dream, 
fearing to betray his thoughts excited by wine and 
passion. The soft moonlight flooded her imposing 
form and lent her a poetical gleam, a secret charm. 
Now and then a ray of light fell upon the brilliants 
which scintillated upon her arms and throat, and yet 
her eyes seemed more bright than sparkling jewels. 

They sought his yearningly; their hands involuntari- 
ly met, and her hair, loosened b}" the cool night 
breeze, touched his feverish cheeks. Purposely or ac- 
cidentally both had hastened on, so that their com- 
panions were left far behind. 

“What a glorious night!” said Norin, merely to 
break the dangerous silence. 

“I love the night,” replied the duchess, “and prefer 
a moonlight walk to any other pleasure. At night 
the flowers smell the sweetest, the stars shine, heart 
opens to heart. Day is the prose, night the poetry of 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 283 

life, yet one must not sleep away the hours,” she added 
with a mocking smile. 

"I am not sleeping,” cried he with increasing pas- 
sion. “I am dreaming.” 

“Of what?” asked she coquettishly. 

“Of endless bliss, of ineffable happiness,” he replied, 
pressing her hand to his feverish lips. 

He scarcely knew what he was saying; involunta- 
rily his lips stammered treacherous words to which she 
listened with a seductive smile, without interrupting 
him. 


Ill 


A ladies’ battle 

Several days after that fatal evening Ada sat alone 
in her room. In her hands she held a letter which she 
had just received — the anonymous report of a guilty 
liaison between the duchess and the famous composer. 

“What vile slander!” cried Ada indignantly. “If I 
could believe such a thing of the duchess, I could nev- 
er believe Norin capable of such infidelit}'. ” 

With a gesture of abhorrence she held the letter to 
the flame of the candle, so that it was speedily con- 
sumed and became merely a heap of ashes. 

Notwithstanding her faith in her beloved the mali- 
cious lines, which seemed to come from someone only 
too well-posted, had greatly excited her. Involuntarily 
a deep sigh escaped her breast and she fell into a pain- 
ful reverie. 

“No no!” cried she, springing up. “It is not pos- 
sible. In spite of all his weaknesses, Norin loves me. 
If he is vain and ambitious, he is too honorable to 
deceive me. He only seeks diversion at the Linden- 
burg, which he cannot find at home owing to my in- 
disposition. I am unjust toward him; I am certainly 
unjust. 

So Ada sought to deceive herself and to excuse her 
beloved. Then she determined to repair her errors, 
to conquer her dislike to the Duchess von Taland, 
and even to pay her rival the visit she had long owed. 

284 


I'KINCE AND MUSICIAN 


285 


That same day she advised Norin of her heroic de- 
termination, which surprised and pleased him very 
much, for he did not suspect in the least her secret 
reasons for doing so. 

The duchess too was not less surprised when Ada 
appeared on his arm in her salon, but, quickly collect- 
ing herself, she greeted her unwelcome guest with her 
most pleasing manner and her most complaisant smile. 
The two women stood face to face, apparently calm 
and composed, like combatants in the arena, measur- 
ing their strength, before they cross weapons. 

In brilliant toilettes, with flowers in their hair, or- 
namented with diamonds and pearls, they were ready 
to give and receive the death-blow, while, beneath ga}^ 
smiles, they tried to conceal their sadness. 

Kindly the duchess inquired as to the health of her 
rival, a*nd how warmly did the latter thank her enemy 
for her interest, although both surely did not think 
and feel as they seemed to. 

“I should be angry with you, dearest cousin,” said 
the duchess in her gentlest tones. "You have of late 
neglected me and avoided us all.” 

“My indisposition was the cause.” 

“You do indeed look pale and ill, but your pallor is 
very becoming and makes you more interesting.” 

“If you continue in that strain, you will make me 
blush. Your highness certainly possesses a knowledge 
of the secrets of the finest flattery.” 

A scarcely perceptible quiver betrayed that the duch- 
ess felt the shaft. But after a pause she continued, 
paying her back richly: 

“Not I alone, but everyone missed you. His royal 
highness, the grand-duke, complained that no one sees 
you anywhere. He speaks of you with a wamrth 
which might render his biide jealous.” 


286 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“You like to jest. The contrary would seem more 
probable. ’’ 

“Oh! ” replied the duchess ironically, “you are a 
dangerous woman. You proved that long since. She 
who could fascinate a lion like Norin, must indeed 
be irresistible.” 

In that manner, the two women, with apparently 
innocent words, hid beneath the flowers the dagger 
strokes, and the poisonous lash of mutual hatred and 
jealousy. 

Fortunately for Ada, who did not possess the bra- 
vado of her opponent, the painful conversation was 
interrupted by the young grand-duke, who had arrived 
somewhat later, and who now requested Norin to fa- 
vor them with one of his compositions. 

“I regret,” said he, before seating himself at the 
piano, "that I have no new work to give you, for of 
late I have not been inclined nor inspired to work.” 

“That makes no difference, ” replied the grand-duke; 
“whatever you offer will be welcome. Choose one of 
your earlier compositions.” 

“May-bells!” cried the duchess, with a mocking side- 
glance at Ada. “Countess Harrer no doubt remem- 
bers the sensation which that charming piece called 
forth on its first representation." 

“Oh!” murmured Ada blushing. “I think that com- 
position less qualified than any other.” 

“You do not, however, think that the ‘May-bells’ 
have withered, or that they have lost their perfume?" 
asked the duchess, with a malicious smile. 

“I only feared that the salon was not fit ground for 
the simple flowers.” 

“Ah! you are jealous of your privilege because the 
May-bells are dedicated to you; you wish them for 


Prince and musician 


287 


yourself alone. But the artist and his work belong 
to the world and you must be contented to share with 
us. ” 

Although the whole affair was clothed in the form of 
a jest, it was nevertheless of the greatest moment to 
those concerned. Both women seemed to wish to aS' 
sert their power over Norin. 

Ada cast an imploring glance at him, while the 
duchess, on the other hand, besieged him with her 
seductive smile, so that he was indeed embarrassed, 
for he wished neither to insult the one, nor to wound 
the other. 

Deep silence reigned in the salon. Ada thought she 
had conquered, when the duchess, who was standing 
near the piano, apparently accidentally dropped her 
costly lace handkerchief, which Norin picked up and 
handed to her. As she thanked him, she whispered 
several words to him, and he re-seated himself at the 
piano. The next moment he played the familiar May- 
bells. Ada turned pale, while her rival could not 
conceal her triumph. 

Only with difficulty could Ada control herself, for 
the duchess, she fancied, cast upon her a mocking, 
victorious glance which seemed to say: "Not for you, 
but for me, the May-bells ring to-day." 

Gladly would Ada have left the salon, but she 
dared not for fear of attracting attention and complet- 
ing her defeat. She was forced to drain the cup of 
sorrow to the dregs. She was alone, unnoticed. At 
that thought she could scarcely restrain her tears. 

Only one friend remained to her, the young grand- 
duke, who left his bride. Princess Leontine, to greet 
Ada. 

But that distinction was for the unhappy woman a 


288 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

source of new care. His manner, his words, betrayed 
unconsciously a hidden passion which filled Ada with 
dread suspicions. 

If she tried to ascribe his energy to his youth, his 
enthusiastic nature, she could not hide the fact that a 
certain danger, if not for her, at least for the grand- 
duke, lay in that intimate intercourse; therefore, as far 
as she could with respect to him, she avoided him. 

On that especial evening his preference for her was 
very striking. It seemed as if he had instinctively 
:,uessed her secret sorrow and wished to make amends 
to her by redoubled attention. 

As she could only avoid the impending catastrophe 
by leaving the room, she pleaded indisposition, and, 
accompanied by Norin, left the duchess’ house. At 
first they walked side by side in silence. She was too 
proud to reproach him although she thought she had 
sufiicient cause. \ 

“Are you really ill?” at length asked Norin, break- 
ing the burdensome silence, “or is it merely a ca- 
price? •’ 

“I am indeed ill,” she replied sadly, “though less 
in body than in mind.” 

“And of course I am to blame, ” he replied bitterly. 

“You accuse yourself, I do not.” 

“Always and forever the same reproaches, which 
grow daily more unbearable; once and for all I must 
tell you that you only annoy yourself and me by your 
caprices. ” 

“I would they were only caprices. Unfortunately I 
am convinced that you no longer love me as you once 
did." 

“How can I help your dreaming of a romantic love 
which is to be found nowhere upon earth? You must 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


289 


see for yourself that a man has other duties than to 
languish at the feet of his beloved, or to spend his 
time with her in some secluded spot. We belong to 
the world in which we must live.” 

"But the world is not this Residence, this court, 
the society of the Duchess von Taland. ” 

“What has the duchess to do with it?” asked he 
gloomily. 

“More than you think; I detest that woman because, 
because — ” 

“Why do you not speak out? Because you are jeal- 
ous; because you listen to the people’s gossip.” 

“This evening has, alas, proved it to be true. The 
instincts of my heart have always warned me of that 
woman, and now I hate her, for I have seen through 
her. She is your and my evil genius. If you -optill 
love me, fly from that dangerous woman, who wishes 
to rob me of your affection, to ruin you.” 

“What exaggeration! I should make myself ridicu- 
lous were I to obey you.” 

“Call me weak; but I can no longer see you asso- 
ciate with her. You seem only to have glances and 
words for her. She rules you entirely and you neglect 
me in her presence. One single wish of hers is of 
more value to you than all my prayers and tears.” 

“Shall I repeat my reasons to you again, why I can- 
not, dare not break with the duchess? If I pay her 
any attention it is purely out of consideration for her 
rank, her position. The same motives* guide me which 
guide you to suffer the grand-duke’s attentions.” 

“Only to escape him did I leave the assembly. For 
some time I have wished to speak with you about the 
grand-duke’s conduct. A certain reticence has until 
now prevented me.” 


290 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


"You take the matter far too seriously. The grand- 
duke is an enthusiast and if occasionally he strays, we 
must not be too particular. I am glad that he takes 
an interest in you, and am, as you see, certainly not 
jealous. We will both be careful to make as much 
use of our situations as possible, as our interests go 
hand-in-hand. If I am on good terms with the duch- 
ess, and you with the grand-duke, we can together 
rule the entire court." 

‘That can surely not be your opinion," cried Ada 
indignantly. "I at least shall never stoop to such deg- 
radation!” 

"I see no degradation in it. What do I require of 
you? A little amiability toward a prince who has the 
power in his harids. There is a certain innocent co- 
quetry which you, unfortunately, will not practice. 
You would gain, not lose by it." 

"I should never have thought you capable of such 
coarseness. ” 

"Be careful, madame!" cried Norin angrily. 

"No, no! I cannot yet believe that you could se- 
riously propose such a lole to me. Your ambition is 
dazzling you. There is still time; you can still save 
yourself and me, if you have the courage to give up 
your plans. By all that is sacred to you I beseech 
you to leave this court. I feel the ground giving way 
beneath our feet. Wherever I look I see our common 
defeat. Not for my sake, but for your own, I implore 
you to abandon that dangerous path which leads to 
destruction. Think of your reputation, of the holy 
mission you have chosen, of your immortality, of our 
love. Can temporary dominion, outward glamour, 
compensate you for those? Do you not fear that, amid 
such surroundings, your genius will end in ignominy?" 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


291 


For a moment Norin seemed to be impressed by the 
truth of her words, but he no longer possessed the 
strength of will to heed her advice, her warnings. 

He felt that he was in the wrong, but that feeling 
increased his anger, his irritability, so that his replies 
to her accusations and reproaches sounded harder 
and more reckless. 

With a cruelty foreign to him he recalled to her 
his conquests, his triumphs, recounted the pleasures 
of his past life which he had given up for her and re- 
gretted all the prospects he had cast aside for her 
sake. 

Like a stream withheld with difficulty, when once 
the dam is broken, the flood of bitter, mutual re- 
proaches was poured forth on both sides. 

Only when Ada, almost in a swoon, sank upon the 
floor at the door of her room, did Norin feel remorse 
awakened in his breast. Passionately he kneeled be- 
side her, covering her cold hands with his hot tears 
and kisses, until she again opened her tearful eyes. 

"Pardon me! " he implored. 

Ada stared at him with a vague smile which moved 
him more than the most violent reproaches could 
have done. He feared she had suddenly become in- 
sane, while she fancied she had been dreaming. 

"It is I,” cried he in despair. "Norin, who still 
loves you." 

At those words she pasesd her white hand over her 
brow, as if to collect her thoughts. 

' "You will not leave me?" she asked. "It would be 
my death!” 

"No, no! You shall not, you cannot die," cried 
Norin, pressing her wildly to his breast. 

"And yet," she returned, suddenly regaining full 


292 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


consciousness, “my death would perhaps be the best 
for us both. I feel that I am only a burden to you, 
that I hem you in on all sides. An artist requires 
freedom. ’’ 

“But not at such a price. I could not bear the 
thought. You will live for me!” 

“Can one live when the heart is dead, when love 
is buried?” asked Ada sorrowfull}^ 

“But I love you still, as I have always loved you," 
cried Norin, deeply moved. 

He really believed the truth of his statement. Never 
had she seemed more charming than at that -moment. 
With a certain pleasure he kissed the tears from her 
pale cheeks, while his eyes hung upon her beaut}'. 

Ada smiled amid her tears and believed her lover’s 
vows of eternal love and fidelity. 


IV 


THREATENING SIGNS 

While these storms disturbed Ada’s peace of mind, 
a dark thunder-cloud was forming over Norin’s head. 
His success had naturally made enemies and rivals 
for him, who only awaited the proper moment to 
overthrow him. • 

The opposition formed found a stanch supporter 
in the widowed grand-duchess, who gradually saw her 
influence over her son disappearing, and who feared 
to lose it altogether. 

Baroness von Gallon, too, lent them her aid, for she 
still cherished her old dislike against Ada and Norin. 
That sufficed to drive the baroness into the enemies’ 
camp, where she was received with open arms as a 
powerful associate. 

From her principally emanated all the scandalous 
reports about the composer’s relations toward the 
duchess. With that object she made use of handsome 
Henry, who, since the death of Prince von Schwarz- 
fels, had entered the duchess’ service, and who, for a 
bribe, would act as a spy. 

At the Baroness von Galleii’s instigation he was the 
one who had informed Ada of Norin’s infidelity by 
means of an anonymous letter. 

As usual, the grand-duke knew the least of those 
intrigues and secret dealings, although his person 
formed the center of the same. He himself had been 

293 


294 PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 

for several weeks in a peculiar mood, which occupied 
him so completely that he scarcely noticed the world 
about him. 

The nearer the day of his marriage with Princess 
Leontine approached, the sadder did he grow, al- 
though the bride chosen for him was in no way disa- 
greeable to him. 

Both were probably too young to understand each 
other; too much alike in many things to attract one 
another. 

On the other hand, Ada possessed all the qualities 
which the grand duke missed in the princess — knowl- 
edge of the world, ripeness of judgment, combined 
with a gentleness and, patience which only experience 
could bestow. 

Gladly he listened to her advice and her opinions 
of persons and things, which were always unpreju- 
diced. 

Unknown to him, that friendly intercourse had be- 
come second nature to him. He was unconscious of 
the true state of his feelings and Ada recognized them 
when it was too late. 

Already her name was coupled in court circles with 
that of the young duke. 

Those reports were used by Norin’s adversaries to 
influence public opinion, but above all to urge the 
grand-duchess to a decisive step. From time to time 
libellous articles appeared in the newspapers relative 
to the composer’s domestic life. 

Then, too, there was no lack of complaints at the 
large demands upon the royal treasury for the im- 
provement of the Residence, for the support of the 
academy, for the building of the new temple of art. 
Whether justly or unjustly, the dispensation of those 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


295 


enormous sums was laid to the account of the favorite, 
and cherished against him. 

Emboldened by their successes, Norin’s enemies 
resolved upon an open attack. 

From all sides arose accusations and complaints 
against the favorite, in which Ada was not spared. 

The one error in her life served to justify the coarsest 
calumnies, the most incredible changes. 

Daily she was exposed to the bitterest insults, to the 
most wounding humiliations. She was avoided by 
societ}^ fully isolated without knowing the cause of 
such a change. 

But -she was grieved the most at the striking con- 
duct of the grand-duchess, who at first had met her 
so kindly. At one of the last assemblies to which Ada 
was invited, the lady had not addressed a single word 
to her, and when she accidentally found herself near 
her, she turned her back upon her. 

That ungracious reception did not pass unnoticed 
and gave the signal for hostilities. Wheresoever she 
turned, she was avoided. And when she drew near a 
group the conversation suddenly ceased, leaving her 
in no doubt as to the subject of their conversation. 

Although the duke, as on all other occasions, re- 
mained the same, the scandalous reports were con- 
firmed so strongly that soon no one doubted Ada’s 

guilt. ^ 

Such unmerited treatment increased her irritability ; 
Norin, too, suffered by it. To a certain extent barred 
from society they suffered greatly. 

Ada’s silent sorrow, which she could not entirely 
conceal, drove Norin to despair. 

When she sat beside him silent and dejected, he 
recalled the days of his good-fortune when the hand- 


296 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


sorriest women fell at his feet. But above all he was 
grieved at the loss of his freedom, at the conscious- 
ness of his dependence. 

More enticing than ever did the world seem to him, 
the world which he had renounced for her sake as he 
did not wish to desert her. 

Another unexpected incident came in addition to 
completely discourage Norin. The sly Bertini, whom 
he confided in so entirely, one day disappeared. 

With increasing uneasiness Bertini had noticed the 
feeling of enmity against Norin and his friends. All 
those signs prompted the sly fellow not to await the 
impending catastrophe, but to think in time of his 
own safety and to hasten his long-meditated flight. 

Taking with him a large sum of the money en- 
trusted to him for the purpose of advancing art as the 
royal agent, he left the Residence at night without 
considering it necessary to bid his patron farewell. 

Nftturall}^, the flight of his protege and the scandal 
attached to it, gave Norin’s opponents the welcome 
opportunity for new attacks. 


V 




MOTHER AND DAUGHTER 

Over the Lindenburg, too, which once only breathed 
of pleasure and joy, for some time had laid a dark 
cloud. Princess Leontine was indisposed and the 
evening assemblies at the duchess’ were postponed 
for the time being. 

In that woman’s heart there was at least one pure 
feeling — maternal love. It had not escaped her dur- 
ing' the past few weeks that the princess’ delicate 
health was threatened. 

Sorrowfully she saw her daughter’s weakness in- 
crease without suspecting the cause. The physician 
who was summoned, examined the invalid, while 
the duchess watched his face with the greatest anxiety. 

"What do you think of the princess’ condition?" 
she asked when alone with him. "You do not think 
it serious?” 

"Not exactly,” replied the doctor, "but we must ex- 
ercise great care, for the princess’ delicate constitution 
requires it. " 

"Do you think there is any organic trouble?" 

"It is less organic than mental, if my eyes do not 
deceive me. It seems that there is something on her 
mind which is slowly undermining her health. Your 
highness must pardon me if I seem indiscreet, but 
where it is a matter of life or death, all other consid- 
erations must disappear. As her mother you will know 

297 


298 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


best what of late could have affected her in this way.” 

“As far as I can remember, I can find no especial 
reason for my daughter’s illness. I almost believe you 
are mistaken, doctor.” , 

“At any rate I should recommend your highness to 
watch her closely. With all respect to our patient, I 
do not think it unlikely that she is hiding some se- 
cret, either from shame or fear.” 

“Although I cannot share your opinion, I will at 
your wish, of course with all necessary foresight, try 
to examine the princess, and will tell you the result of 
my efforts.” 

When the physician had left her, the duchess softly 
entered the room of the princess, who seemed to be 
asleep in her chair. 

The duchess glanced anxiously at her daughter, firmly 
resolved to learn the cause of her suffering. At her 
entrance the princess awoke from her doze, opened her 
hollow eyes and involuntarily sighed. 

“How are you, dear child?” asked the anxious 
mother. 

“I feel somewhat weary and ill,” replied Leontine, 
extending her feverish hand. 

You are ill, but your condition, fortunately, is not 
dangerous, the doctor assures me. Yes, he thinks your 
recovery depends entirely upon your own will.” 

“I do not understand,” returned the princess inno- 
cently. “What can I do to make myself well?” 

“Much, if not everything. According to the doctor’s 
opinion, your illness is less physical than mental, the 
cure of which lies entirely in your power. ’’ 

“If such were the case I should at once try to re- 
cover, for your sake, for I know my indisposition 
grieves you.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


299 


It depends only upon understanding clearly your 
own condition, which has always its difficulties. We 
are as little able to see our own souls as we are to 
reproduce our own pictures. For that are required 
other eyes, a mirror in which we can gaze and which 
shows us the truth. Such a mirror is the mother’s 
e3^e. 

“And what does that mirror say?” asked the sick girl 
with a forced smile. 

“That you have a secret sorrow which you are trying 
in vain to hide from me.” 

“No, no! You are mistaken, I have never had a 
secret from you. ’’ 

“There are secrets of which we ourselves are not 
aware because they are in the depths of our souls. 
Your sudden blushes, your involuntary sighs, tell me 
that I have touched the sensitive spot which 5'ou, per- 
haps unconsciously, hide in your heart.” 

“I have nothing to hide from you," persisted the 
princess, while her face seemed to belie her words. 

“Leontine! ” besought the duchess with a warmth 
unusual to her. “Be frank with me! You know that 
you have no truer friend than your mother, that I 
am always ready to make the greatest sacrifices to 
render you happy. So much the more anxious does 
your present silence make me. I will not bring to 
bear upon you my maternal authority, but will simply 
remind you of my love, which I have proved to you 
so often. Let me ohly know the cause of your suffering 
that I may, if it be in my power, put an end to it. 
Perhaps your betrothed is 'o blame?" 

“The grand-duke! How can you think so?” asked 
the princess without any embarrassment, while the 
duchess looked fixedly at her. 


300 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


“It has escaped you as little as it has me, that he is 
very attentive to that Countess Harrer. Perhaps you 
are jealous?’’ 

“Why should I be jealous? I know that my be* 
trothed is too honorable to deceive me. That he admires 
the countess I find only natural, for she is an interest- 
ing and agreeable woman.’’ 

“Have I been mistaken?’’ murmured the duchess. 
Again she glanced sharply at the pretty, pale face 
of her daughter. 

“And you,’’ she asked after a pause, “do you love 
your betrothed? “ 

“Why should I not love Adalbert? He is always 
kind, always considerate to me, although at times I 
fancy that we do not understand each other as well 
as we shall later on." 

“And you have no other grounds for complaint 
against your betrothed?” 

“Not the slightest. Since my illness he has over- 
whelmed me with the most delicate attentions. He 
inquires daily for my healtli and sends me the prettiest 
flowers, accompanied by. the most affectionate lines. 
I should do very wrong were I to doubt his love for 
a moment." 

The entrance of the maid interrupted the conver- 
sation; she announced the arrival of the composer, 
whereupon she again disappeared. 

“I must leave you now,” said the duchess to her 
daughter, "for Herr Norin is awaiting me." 

At the mention of that name the princess could not 
refrain from shuddering, which fact did not escape the 
duchess’ sharp eye. 

“What ails you?” asked the duchess suspiciously. 

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” murmured the princess, 
turning aside her head. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


3or 

“A few moments ago you were so gay and all at 
once you changed so entirely." 

‘‘It is probably weakness." 

.• "No, no. You are trying to deceive me, Leontine. I 
pray, I beseech you, be frank with me. Your condi- 
tion renders me very anxious." 

"You forget that Herr Norin is aw.aiting you," re- 
turned the girl evasively. The tone in which she ut- 
tered those harmless words, sounded so strangely bit- 
ter that the duchess was involuntarily startled. 

The terrible suspicion which the mother scarcely 
dared entertain, much less express, became almost 
certainty- She would not, she could not believe the 
worst. 

"As it seems," said she, after a pause, "the visits of 
Herr Norin are not agreeable to you. ” 

"He does not come to see me,” said the princess 
with well simulated composure, "but you." 

"That sounds almost like a reproach!" replied the 
duchess, glancing searchingly at her daughter. 

"I do not claim the right to dictate to you whom to 
receive. " 

"Perhaps you have a prejudice against the man 
about whom, as you probably know, various scandalous 
reports have been •spread by his enemies." 

"They do not concern me, but — " 

"Why do you hesitate to express your opinion of 
him before me? " 

"I fear I may wound you, for I know that you — ” 

She did not complete her sentence, for shame pre- 
vented her from uttering, in her mother’s presence, 
the words which filled her with the bitterest sorrow, 
abhorrence and grief. 

For several moments silence reigned. 


302 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


The duchess collecting herself first, said: 

"If I understand you aright, you do not approve of 
Norin as a friend of mine." 

"I do not know myself,” replied the princess, "but 
I cannot deny that an inexpressible feeling of fear 
possesses me whenever I see him near you.” 

"Poor child!” sighed the duchess involuntarily. 

"Indeed I may seem childish to you, but I am afraid 
of that man, who seems to me like a fallen angel, a 
Lucifer, as seductive as the snake in Paradise, like a 
tempter whom one admires and loathes at the same 
time.” ^ 

"Those are only fancies of your over wrought imag^ 
ination, the results of your delicate condition, ” soothed 
the duchess. 

"You may be right, yet I cannot help it. Even in my 
dreams his image follows me and disturbs my repose. 
Sometimes I really believe he is a magician.” 

"What nonsense! I thought you more sensible.” 

"Such sentiments arise against my will whenever I 
hear his name. I cannot help thinking that he will 
bring misfortune upon us all. When he touches your 
hand, talks to you and looks at you, he reminds me 
of an evil spirit which seeks your ruin." • 

"You do Norin an injustice, for I have more than 
one proof of his friendship.” 

"And yet I beseech you to avoid him. If 5^ou love 
me, fly from that man.” 

'T almost fear you are jealous of my friendship for 
him," replied the duchess. 

"Call it what you will, I only know that it makes 
me very miserable and unhappy.” 

"Leontine! You do not know how your words 
wound me. Nevertheless I am ready to make the 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


303 


greatest sacrifices for you, if by that means I can pur- 
chase your happiness, your peace. Still, you can see 
that I cannot break with Norin entirely without insult- 
ing him deeply. But I will as far as possible regard 
your prejudices." 

With that assurance the duchess left her daughter, 
who gratefully pressed her mother’s hand to her feverish 
lips. 

The duchess could not, however, allay her original 
suspicions. 

She said to herself: "No, no, it cannot be. I have 
been deceived. Leontine does not love Norin, she 
hates him. It would be terrible were she to love him. 
I shudder at the thought. At any rate the greatest 
prudence is necessary. I will only see him rarely and 
then in secret. But above all, Leontine’ s marriage 
with the grand duke must take place as soon as 
possible. Danger hangs over them both, and can only 
be overcome by rapid treatment." 


I 


VI 


BETRAYED. LOVE 

Through the dark walks of the park wandered a 
poor, unhappy, heart-broken woman. In her anguish 
she heeded not the lateness of the hour nor the com- 
ing storm. 

From time to time she paused to get her breath, 
when her throbbing heart threatened to spring from 
her weak bosom. 

She had reached the vicinity of the Lindenburg, at 
which she gazed. All was enshrouded in darkness, 
only in the sick princess’ chamber a light burned. 
For weeks no assemblies had been held in the brilliant 
salons, for the duchess, out of regard for her daugh- 
ter’s health, had retired from the world. 

Norin, for the same reason, was not received by her. 
Already Ada thought he had broken with the dangerous 
woman forever, and the entire Residence shared her 
opinion. New hope animated her breast, when grad- i 
ually the scandalous reports subsided. Never had No- 
rin been more loving, more kind to her. 

He spent most of his evenings by her side, or else 
he worked upon his new opera which, as he said, he 
hoped to complete in a few weeks. If at times in her 
presence he was absent-minded, she ascribed it to his 
great work. With the credulity of a loving woman, 
Ada dreamed of the return of those happy days she had 
once spent with him. 


304 



She had reached the vicinity of the Lindenburg, at which she 
grazed, p. 304. 







PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


305 


By that anonymous writer who had not written to 
her for some time, she was again aroused from her 
scarcely won composure. 

He not only repeated his former insinuations, but 
strengthened them by undeniable proofs which no 
longer permitted her to doubt Norin’s infidelity. 

As formerly, he was still meeting the hated duchess, 
but not openly; in secret, in order to avoid all suspi- 
cion. The secluded pavilion in the park of the Lin- 
denburg was the spot in which the guilty pair met. 

So said the writer, who bade Ada judge of the truth 
of his statements by witnessing their meetings with 
her own eyes. He named the place and hour of ren- 
dezvous and at the same time sent her the key to the 
secret gate by which the Lindenburg could be reached 
unnoticed. 

“Deceived!” crisd Ada, after reading the fatal letter. 
She left her dwelling mad with jealousy. 

She scarcely knew what she was doing, whither 
she was going. 

With the help of the key sent to her, she opened 
the small side gate, which led to the park. She now 
stood near the pavilion, hidden behind an enormous 
oak, awaiting with a beating heart the terrible moment 
which should decide her fate. 

From a neighboring tower the bell chimed eleven, 
the hour set for Norin’s rendezvous with the duchess. 
At the same time a bright light appeared in the pa- 
vilion. Behind the hangings Ada thought she could 
plainly distinguish the form of a woman. 

It was her rival, her heart told her, like her await- 
ing the faithless man. 

Ada listened anxiously. 

Scarcely had the last strokes of the chimes died 
away, than her ear caught a slight sound. 


3o6 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


The small gate opened. A dark form, enveloped in 
a long mantle, entered the park and approached the 
pavilion. 

It was he ! 

Her anonymous informant had not deceived her. 

At a sign from Norin the window of the pavilion 
Opened, and instead of the maid whom he expected, 
the duchess herself appeared. 

"Juliette?” he cried softly, deceived by the darkness. 

"Juliette," whispered the duchess, "was taken sud- 
denly ill, so I was obliged to receive 3^011 myself, for 
I did not wish to initiate any other servant into our 
secret. ” 

"So much the better. Instead of the priestess, the 
goddess herself will open the sanctuary to me." 

Ada uttered a cry of despair. 

"Who is there?” asked he in surprise. 

No reply; only a soft, sobbing sound could be heard. 

Seized by a sudden suspicion, Norin involuntarily 
hesitated. 

Notwithstanding the darkness he thought he saw a 
white shadow which appeared to him on the threshold 
of the pavilion like a ghost. 

A bright flash of lightning lighted up a pale, silent 
woman who stared fixedly at him. 

"Ada!" cried he with a shudder. 

Overcome by grief, she sank at his feet. 

He attempted to raise her in his arms, but she re- 
pulsed him with all her strength and fled before he 
could prevent her. 

In vain did the duchess await Norin; he followed 
the unhappy woman who sped on before him like a 
withered leaf borne by the breeze. Fear, compassion 
and remorse urged him to do so. 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


307 


He thought he had reached her, when she suddenly 
disappeared under the shadow of the trees. Still he 
did not give up the hope of finding her again. 

Breathlessly Ada hastened through the gate into the 
open space, not knowing whither she was flying, 
farther, still farther, without pausing, as if she were 
trying to reach the end of the earth. Her loosened 
nair floated in the air, her shawl had fallen from her 
shoulders and the streaming rain beat unheeded upon 
her neck and face. 

The delicate woman seemed oblivious of the disturb- 
ance of the elements, she was blind to everything but 
her grief. 

One despairing thought alone drove her onward un- 
til she reached the flowing river. She leaned over the 
bridge and gazed into the enticing depths which seemed 
to beckon to her. 

In the meantime Norin had instinctively followed 
her, rushing like a madman after the shadow before 
bim, trying to keep in her tracks, lest she might lose 
her way and, in the darkness, plunge into the river. 

At length he saw her leaning over the bridge, star- 
ing at the abyss at her feet. Only a step separated 
her from a watery grave. 

They were alone, no witnesses were near. 

Norin was startled by his own thoughts. 

The next momen,t he rushed toward Ada, seized her 
as does a wild beast his prey, in order to draw her away 
from the dangerous abyss, as if he wished to protect 
her and himself from the terrible temptation. 

Unresistingly she followed him; exhausted by the 
inward strife she suffered herself to be led to her 
apartments where she fainted. 

When she at length opened her eyes, she saw Norin 


3o8 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


kneeling at her bed-side, covering her hands with re- 
morseful tears. Consciousness returned gradually and 
she turned her head away as if she could not bear his 
presence. 

"Ada!” cried he, conscience-stricken. "Can you 
forgive me?” 

"Oh!" she murmured. "I have only one wish, to 
die in peace. ” 

"What a dreadful wish,” he exclaimed, deeply 
moved. "Can you not be reconciled by the sight of 
my remorse, my deep sense of guilt — ” 

"Leave me!” she besought, her face turned away. 
"I only know that I cannot, do not wish to survive 
this blow.” 

"I shall not stir from your side until you have par- 
doned me. Only trust once more in my love. P'rcm 
now on I will do all in my power to make you forget 
3"our suffering, to heal the wounds I have inflicted." 

"It will be in vain! From this last wound my heart 
cannot recover. I feel that it is mortal.” 

"I confess my guilt; but I swear to you that from 
to-day I will belong to you alone, that I will never see 
the duchess again. I will, if you like, leave the court 
forever. To-morrow we will go to Switzerland, to 
Lake Geneva, back to our old refuge." 

"Too late!” moaned the miserable woman. "We 
must separate forever!” 

"Do not utter the horrible word! We will now be- 
gin a new life after having sinned heavily and suffered 
still more heavily. Perhaps we shall succeed in forget- 
ting the past so that it will only seem to us like an 
unpleasant dream.” 

"It is impossible. I can never forget this night. 
The thought that you wished for my death would 
never leave me.” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


309 


"What a horrible accusation! It borders on mad- 
ness! ’’ cried he, turning pale. 

"Oh, I read your mind as I stood on the bridge and 
looked into the stream. I saw you stretch out your 
arm to — " 

"Silence, unhappy woman!” cried Norin, covering 
his face with his hands. 

"You were too cowardly," she continued, "to com- 
mit a crime; too weak to allow me to do so. You 
desired my death, but you lacked the courage to mur- 
der me. You thought of the world, therefore you 
saved me; not out of love for me, but out of fear of 
the punishment, of the reproaches of your own con- 
science. At length I have found you out, and I know 
now, for the first time, that you never loved me." 

"Mercy!” cried Norin, aware of his secret guilt. "I 
am neither so cowardly nor so wicked as you think 
me. I did not rescue you from fear, but from love, 
from love alone, if I did seem to yield for a moment 
to temptation.” 

"It would have been wiser had you allowed me to 
drown myself. This love is the curse of my life. We 
are now both bearing the results of our guilt. Nemesis 
has followed us; the revenge of the injured husband 
has met us only too severely. He knew what he was 
doing; he may be contented with his work. He has 
condemned us to unbearable punishment. We cannot 
look in one another’s eyes without blushing. Like gal- 
ley-slaves, we bear the brand of our disgrace upon our 
brows. True love requires freedom. I give you yours 
back, after discovering our mutual errors. We can, 
we dare no longer deceive ourselves, if we wish to 
preserve our self-respect. " 

Again Norin combated her determination with 


310 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


tender words, with promises and assurances to which 
she made no reply. When he took her hand to press 
it to his lips, he found it cold and inert. 

She shuddered and murmured several unintelligible 
words, as if in delirium. 

‘‘Ada!’’ cried he in terror. "What ails you?" 

"I shall not have much longer to suffer,’’ she re- 
plied, clutching at her heart convulsively. "I feel that 
I cannot outlive this blow." 

"And I am her murderer!" cried Norin, sinking at 
her feet in despair. 


VII 


NEMESIS 

An almost incredible piece of news ran through the 
Residence; the young grand-duke had at length yielded 
to the importunities of his ministers, to the intrigues 
of the court, to public opinion, which found expres- 
sion through the mouth of the court preacher, but 
above ail to the representations of his mother. 

A letter in his own handwriting informed Norin of 
his patron’s decision. Although the words sounded 
kind, the unexpected blow wounded his pride deeply. 

The punishment followed on the heels of the crime. 

Wherever he turned, he saw misery, unhappiness, 
the results of his guilt, the poisonous fruits of the seed 
scattered by his own hand. 

Ada’s condition was, according to the doctor’s opin- 
ion, hopeless. A slow fever was sapping her life. 
The entire day she la}^ in silence, her head upon her 
pillow, her hands crossed upon her breast, with sunken 
cheeks and hollow eyes, too weak even to complain. 

The mere sight of her was a terrible reproach to 
him, and reminded him constantly of his secret guilt. 

“If she dies, you have killed her,” said a voice 
within him. “She is dying of the slow poison you 
have administered drop by drop. No poison is more 
deadly than that of betrayed love, of infidelity.” 

The nearer the moment approached when she was 
to leave him^ the stronger awoke his love for her which 

311 


312 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


had never been dead, the more unbearable did her loss 
seem to him. 

"Is there no remedy?” he asked the doctor. "No 
hope? My entire fortune shall be yours if you can do 
any good here.” 

"Science has its limits,” replied the doctor, with a 
compassionate shrug of his shoulders. "Death cannot 
be averted. It would be wrong to give you ever so 
slight a hope." 

In despair Norin returned to the invalid, who per- 
ceived his agitation. 

“You have talked with the doctor,” said, she in a 
feeble voice. "I suspect what he told you. I do not 
count my life any longer by days, but by hours.” 

"No, no!" cried he, striving for composure. "Heav- 
en will have mercy upon us.” 

"You would deceive me as to my condition, but 
I feel that I have only a few moments to live. I would 
use them in order to make my peace with God and 
the world. Will you fulfill a dying woman’s last re- 
quest? ” 

"I will do all,” he replied, "that you ask of me. 
Demand my blood, my life; I would give it with 
pleasure. ” 

"I thank you," said she, extending to him her 
emaciated hand, "that at least at this hour you will 
not desert me. Soon I shall appear before a higher 
tribunal. I hope for divine, mercy, although I have 
sinned deeply. But before all I must fulfill with your 
aid one duty which weighs upon- my mind.” 

"Speak — what shall, what can I do for 3'ou?” 

"I have,” replied Ada, "written a letter to Count 
Harrer, in which I beg for his forgiveness. I depend 
upon you, as soon as I have closed my eyes, to send it 
to the count." 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


313 


“I will send it,” replied Norin. 

"It is in the secret drawer of my secretary, where 
you will find it. You may read it after my death, for I 
do not wish to hide my thoughts from you. Our sin 
must be repented of in common.” 

“Can you forgive me?” 

"I forgive you as I hope to be forgiven. I die with- 
out anger or hatred, but, too, without love. We can- 
not belong to one another either in this world or the 
next. ” 

“Ada! ” cried Norin, sorrowfully. 

She could not answer him; exhausted by the excite- 
ment, she fell back upon her pillow, leaving Norin a 
prey to the bitterest remorse. 

The shadow of death already lay upon Ada’s pale 
face. 

From time to time she sighed. Anxiously Norin 
listened to her short, feeble breathing, which could 
scarcely be heard and which at times threatened to 
cease. 

Seized with fear, he called her name. She gazed 
at, but did not seem to know him. 

“It is I kneeling at your feet,” cried he. 

A vague smile hovered about her lips, while her 
hands plucked mechanically at the white bed-spread. 

Sobbing he cast himself upon the bed, which he be- 
dewed with his scalding tears. He had only the one 
wish — to die with her. 

Shortly before the end her consciousness returned; 
once more she opened her eyes and fixed them upon 
him. 

“The letter, do not forget the letter!” she murmured 
with her dying breath. 

Her last thought was not for Norin, but for her 
wronged husband. 


314 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


Tne setting sun illumined with its beams the rigid 
features of a corpse. 

The next morning Norin rose in order to send Ada’s 
letter to Count Harrer after he had read it, as she re- 
quested. The letter ran: 

“I feel near my death and know that 1 have only a 
few days to live. I am dying, solitary, deserted, be- 
trayed, but I do not complain, for I have deserved 
that fate. Just punishment has been meted out to 
me and to my seducer. Were I to describe to you 
what I have borne, how much I have suffered, you 
would pity me and weep involuntarily. I have drained 
the bitter chalice of humiliation, of disgrace and of 
shame to the dregs. Too late did I perceive my mis- 
take; at the moment when my eyes were to close for- 
ever did I see the light of truth. With deep repent- 
ance an unhappy woman clings to your knees and 
begs forgiveness for her sin. I have sinned against 
the noblest man in the world, whose worth I only dis- 
covered when I had left him, when I was unworthy 
of him. But I did not atone less easily for my mistake. 
In making this confession I count upon your mercy, 
your forgiveness. That is the only, the last thought, 
of your dying Ada.” 

With his grief for her death was combined the 
weight of such an accusation which served to com- 
pletely prostrate Norin. Like a condemned man he 
followed the coffin of the unhappy woman whose 
murderer he considered himself. 

After the funeral he cast himself upon his bed where 
he sought in vain for rest. Before his eyes hovered 
the image of Ada. Finally he fell asleep, but his 
conscience troubled him even then. In his dreams he 
the bl.ach Qofhn in which reposed Ada’s whit^T 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


315 


robed form. Slowly she rose and touched his face 
with her hand. 

“Follow me!” whispered the pallid, bloodless lips. 
Forcibly she drew him into the open grave, which 
closed over them both, heavier and heavier, so that he 
almost suffocated. 

In vain he struggled against the terrible load which 
oppressed his breast until he awoke, laboring under 
great excitement, and sprang up in affright. 

The door of his bedroom opened softly and by the 
faint light of the lamp, which stood upon the table, 
he saw a dark form which stared specter-like at him. 

Norin fancied he was still dreaming, he looked up- 
on the apparition as an illusion of his excited fancy, 
although the features were only too familiar. 

In order to convince himself, he advanced toward 
the strange form. 

The latter too advanced a few steps nearer him. 
Involuntarily Norin shivered. 

Both stared at one another with searching glances. 

It was Count Harrer. 

His bronzed face was changed, his hair was gray, 
his form bent, but in his eyes glowed a suppressed 
fire. 

“As I see,” said he in a hollow voice, “I have 
come too late. Ada no longer lives.” 

“She rests in peace,” replied Norin, pale but com- 
posed. 

“Then I have only one duty to perform— to avenge 
the dead, to punish her murderer! ’ 

“Count! You have been sufficiently avenged.” 

“Sufficiently avenged!” cried he with flaming eyes. 
“Do you really believe that I shall be contented to 
have you suffer |or th^ njornent only? I kijow you 


3i6 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


better — every impulse of your heart. You will soon 
forget the unhappy woman in the arms of some other 
faithless one, as you betrayed and neglected the liv- 
ing.” 

“Never! I swear to you!” 

“Did you not swear the same when you robbed me 
of my happiness, my life, my greatest treasures? Do 
you consider me foolish enough to trust to your oaths, 
to your words? At that time consideration for her 
who is now no more restrained me, but to-day you 
shall not escape just punishment. You owe me rep- 
aration for all the misery, the sorrow, the disgrace 
you have heaped upon my head — for every tear, every 
complaint of that unfortunate woman.” 

“You alone have the right to insult me unpunished, ” 
said Norin. 

“And yet words are inadequate to accuse you. You 
destroyed my peace, my happiness, broke my heart, 
poisoned my mind, stifled love and faith in my breast, 
awoke within me all the evil spirits, hatred and anger, 
mistrust and despair. Notwithstanding that, I re- 
strained my revenge out of consideration for Ada, out 
of compassion for the woman whom, in spite of her 
guilt, I coUld not forget. Invisibly I followed you, 
watched your every step; for months, for years, at 
home, abroad, on the shores of Lake Geneva, at court 
and — in the Lindenburg pavilion.” 

“This is too much,” cried Norin, coloring. 

“Yes,” returned the count calmly, “I degraded 
myself to spy upon you. Through you I was avenged 
upon Ada. The seducer became the executioner, and 
the hand of the beloved itself stretched the sacrifice 
upon the rack and completed the sentence of justice 
upon the erring woman,” 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


317 

‘We both suffered deeply. It would have been bet- 
ter had you killed us at the moment when you v/ere 
justified in doing so.” 

"God did not wish it; the just Judge at that time 
turned aside my weapon that it might find you later. 
There is a retribution which only spares the sinner 
to punish him the more severely.” 

“Ah, you speak the truth,” moaned Norin, cover- 
ing his face with both hands. “You can gloat over my 
misery to which even the tortures of hell are as 
naught. You would pity me could you see into my 
heart. ” 

“Pity! ’ laughed the count bitterly. “Did you pity 
me when you robbed me of my life’s happiness, of 
the love of an adored wife? And what did you do 
with the heart you tore from me? You tortured, be- 
trayed, trampled it under foot, slowly tormented it to 
death and delighted in its agony.” 

“Cease, count!” 

“The woman who trusted you, who gave up to you 
her honor, her reputation, her position, her entire hap- 
piness, you betrayed, deceived, sacrificed to a shame- 
less rival. And you dare to ask for pity!” 

“I ask no mercy from you,” replied Norin with 
averted head. “You cannot judge me more severely 
than does my own conscience. The bitterest remorse 
gnaws at my heart and strikes more deeply into my 
soul than your curses which, in the consciousness of 
my guilt, I must bear.” 

“Can your remorse awake the dead, recall the mxur- 
d^red to life? Do you think you can move me, de- 
ceive me by your grief? You are too great an artist, 
too famous a genius, not to find comfort speedily. 
To-morrow you will celebrate a new triumph, deceive 


3i8 


PRINCE AND MUSICIAN 


another victim, curse another man as you did me, ruin 
and render wretched another home, if I do not prevent 
you. ” 

“And what do you require of me?” 

“Life for life, justice for the dead, punishment for 
the guilty.” 

“You challenge me — 

“To a combat in which one of us must fall — to a 
duel for life or death.” 

“I am ready. As soon as I have arranged my affairs, 
I shall be at your service." 

“In an hour I will send 3'ou my second, with whom 
you can fix the time and place.” 

The following day, Norin, accompanied by his sec- 
ond, arrived at the appointed spot, a forest in the 
neighborhood of the Residence, where Count Harrer 
was already awaiting him with his second. 

The rising sun lighted with his golden rays the two 
men, standing opposite each other, one of whom was 
not to see the sunset. 

Deep, solemn silence reigned, interrupted only by 
the twittering of the awakening birds amid the green 
foliage. 

Softly the seconds whispered, while the doctor ar- 
ranged his instruments and bandages. 

Norin leaned against a tree and watched the load- 
ing of the pistols. From time to time he shivered, 
although he did not lack courage. He was thinking 
of Ada. 

The final words were spoken. 

Silently the opponents seized their weapons and 
took their places. 

The seconds gave the signal and two shots were 
fired. 


PRINCE ANt) MUSICIAN 


3ig 


When the smoke had disappeared, Norin fell. 

The second caught him in his arms. 

The bullet had pierced his heart. 

While the count with icy composure left the ground 
as if he had but fulfilled his duty, the doctor exam- 
ined the injured man’s wounds. 

Once more the dying musician opened his eyes only 
to close them forever. 

His companion returned to the Residence with the 
remains. In the vicinity of the Lindenburg he met 
an elegantly-appointed equipage in which sat the 
Duchess von Taland with her sick daughter, on her 
way to the south, where she hoped to find relief for the 
sufferer. 

One glance told her all. Before she could call to 
the coachman, the princess ha*d recognized the corpse. 
Turning pale, she sank into her disconsolate mother’s 
arms. 

“My child, my unhappy child!” cried the latter in 
despair. 

Nemesis, too, had overtaken her. 


» 


THE END 


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i 



ISABEL FALLEN SMITH 


12imo. Cover. 


IlvLUSTRiVTED 


“Illustrated and printed elegantly.” — Spirit of the Times. 

“What Woman Wouldn’t is an entrancing story. In tone it is 
pure and in language choice.” — Lincoln Daily Call. 

“Could only have been written by a woman who understands 
women.” — Nebraska State Journal. 

“ It is decidedly of the French school, following closely in the 
footsteps of the Balzac and tinged with the coloring of the author’s 
Southern imagination. The plot is well woven, carrying the interest 
of the reader to the last chapter, scenes admirably described and 
characters true to life; in fact, too true, for Mrs. Smith has portrayed 
scenes which, according to our American ideas, would have been 
better left to the imagination.” — Washington Free Press. 

“ It is a picture, with some bold and masterly touches, of the 
terrible vengeance dealt out by a wronged wife upon the destroyer of 
her character and happiness. * * The characters are such as one 

may find in Washington society life, and their truthfulness may be 
judged from the fact that the author is a lady occupying one of the 
highest positions that a women can hold in the employ of the 
Government. 

Mrs. Isabel Fallen Smith, the author, is the youngest child of 
the late Dr. M. M. Fallen, who was for twenty-four years one of the 
leading physicians of St. Louis.” — St. Louis Republic. 


For Sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers or will be sent by 
the Publishers on receipt of price. 

DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. Publishers 


CHIC-fi-OO. 


JON EL FORTUNAT. 


By Marco Brociner. i2mo. Paper Cover. 
Illustrated. 


“A story of Roumanian life, written with consider- 


able skill, full of graphic description and abounding 


in incident. Some of the scenes are dramatic to a 
degree and present a new and hitherto untouched 
field for the readers of fiction. — The San Francisco 
Report, 

'‘A very interesting story of Roumanian life and 
ways, Christians and Jews, beggars and peasants, and 
it is all so odd, and so out of the ordinary run, that 
reading it is like a trip to the unknown country which 
it describes.” — The New Orleans Picayune, 

**It is handsomely illustrated, and the story is 
intensely thrilling, with powerfully drawn charac- 
ters. — Columbus {Ga,) Enquirer- Sun. 

“Is one of the most powerful romances published 
for a long time.” — The Seattle Post- Intelligencer, 

DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO., Publishers, 


CHICAGO. 


6107 
























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